Thursday, December 30, 2010


There are many things I love about femdom. I mean, I hate the fact that it sounds like one of those stupid female contraceptive plastic bag thingies, but otherwise- yeah. Totally love it. Love reading about it, love writing about it, have made a list of all the things I love about it:

1. 95% of the erotica/erotic romance I read features alpha males. It's good to get a break, sometimes.

2. Male vulnerability is orsum. Yes, I know that men are big and tough. I know that it's great that they swing in at the last second to ruggedly save someone in a ruggish fashion. But just occasionally, I like it when Indiana Jones gets punched and looks like he feels it.

3. I'd make him feel it, all right.

4. The dynamics are so different to what's expected. I've always loved stories that push against barriers, be it actual literal sci-fi forcefield barriers or just barriers around propriety or good sense or any other number of things. The tension in a story is highest when people aren't allowed to do stuff, or maybe they just think they shouldn't be allowed, or maybe society does a frowny face when they try and allow themselves. It's easy to explore this stuff in femdom, and when I read it there's always this delicious frisson of gender subversion and other naughty stuff.

5. It's hot. It just is. And I think more people would find it hot if they encountered the really well done stuff. Because it's so rare, the proportion of actually well written femdom is much, much finer than the proportion of well written alpha male stories.

So now I'm going to go over my favourite all time femdom stories.

1. The Top of Her Game, by Emma Holly

It's a modern cowboy story. That I actually like. That's some kind of miracle all on its own. But the main and most important thing about this book is that the hero is not some simpering, living in a cage obsessed buffoon. And the heroine doesn't have to give up her illicit femdom ways in order to find happiness. Nor does she discover that actually, secretly, she's really a submissive.

2. Taking Care of Business, Megan Hart

I'm just going to talk about the Megan Hart portion of this book, here, because the Lauren Dane portion is not femdom. Here, again, you've got a hero who isn't a cipher or a whiner or some other stupid thing usually associated with femdom. He's big and handsome and orsum, and the action is hot without a hint of "oh what a little pathetic idiot he is". I can handle the doubting, am-I-a-weirdo-for-liking-this attitude of the heroines in both of these books, because...well. I can understand why they feel that way.

3. Blackberry Pie, Bonnie Dee

It's not technically femdom, but there's something about the dynamic in it that veers close. There's just something about a religious man giving in to carnal desires that ticks all the boxes. And I feel that Bonnie Dee has the potential to write awesome femdom, if she ever tried her hand at it.

4. A Baumgartner Reunion, Selena Kitt

Again, it's not technically femdom. But HOMG the scenes with Henry in them... He's everything that I love in a femdom hero: horny, handsome, big, eager and just waiting to be bossed around. I was desperate to get my hands on his story, and though it didn't live up to those little snippets in Reunion it was still totally fab. Selena Kitt always writes the best male characters, and especially when they're bonking. She makes them vulnerable in their horny eagerness, which is something you hardly ever see in erotica/erotic romance.

And that's it. I think there are others. Joey W Hilly writes some great femdom heroes, for example, and other writers dare to create beta heroes. But the fact that I can't think of very many other femdom books I love when I've read every erotic novel ever written says a lot, I feel.

Which is why I wrote one of my very own! The ravenous zombie-like craving for femdom just became too much, and I had to feed my fix myself. Which is weird because I can't really read my own writing and enjoy it, but I can at least hope that you do, gentle reader.

Here it is:

And here's the blurb:

Clarissa Levinson’s boyfriend has asked for a very unusual birthday present this year. He wants her to fulfill three wishes, and all of them require Clarissa to push her own personal boundaries and become the boss not just at work, but in the bedroom as well.

His kinky demands initially make her nervous, but the more she gives him what he wants, the weaker her inhibitions become. In fact, she’s starting to really like being the one in charge. Who knew domination could be so much fun?

And the link:

And an excerpt:

“Are you shocked?” he asked. His voice sounded dry, like it was desperate to gulp right in the middle of the sentence.

“I don’t think shocked is the word for it.”

It was true. It wasn’t. Instead, she had to press her thighs together against the rising tide of feeling. Sweet tingles threaded through her body, tightening her nipples and swelling her sex as they went.

“Is disturbed the word for it?”

She had to laugh at that. He always thought the worst of all the things he wanted. Like he shouldn’t take that extra slice of pie, and if he did, people would think he was greedy and disgusting. Like he shouldn’t tell people he liked watching figure skating, because they would think he was weird and unmanly. Like he shouldn’t confess things he’d been feeling ever since he caught his first girlfriend being spanked by another man and all he could think was—

I wish I was the one being spanked.

She knew what he thought. She’d seen it in the flush all over his cheeks and the nervous stammering and the questions he didn’t need to ask, like—Do you think girls leave guys because they know that secretly the guy is kind of soft inside?

But how do you reassure someone about something so simultaneously complex and ridiculously simple? None of the things on the list even remotely suggested a softness about him. They were largely mean, cruel sorts of things that took all kinds of strength to endure or admit to.

Yet the fact remained that he wanted them because of some deep-seated needs and long-held desires, and she couldn’t just unpick these things by patting him on the head and telling him not to be silly. She couldn’t just suggest to him—Don’t be embarrassed. This stuff turns me on too, apparently.

Showing would likely work out better. Just showing him that it was okay. That would work out right, wouldn’t it?

“You don’t have to do any of them if you don’t want to. I mean—they’re just ideas, really. Outlines, if you will. Nothing set in stone. And if you don’t want to at all then that’s okay, because I love doing the stuff we do. I really love it. At the very least, you actually act like you want to have sex with me.”

Sometimes she could understand why he said things like that. When they’d met he’d had no idea about clothes and spent his days in brown corduroy or even worse—purple corduroy. He’d side-parted his hair and worn sweaters just for everyday living like the one he was wearing now, and he’d found his glasses in the bin marked “die alone” at Specsavers.

So she could see how he often wondered why anyone had ever wanted to have sex with him. She really could. Apart from where he was absolutely and obviously gorgeous underneath all the derp-itude and the corduroy, like the ugly-duckling-to-swan movie She’s All That only stupider.

Hadn’t anyone been able to see his outrageous potential? The size of his hands, the broadness of his shoulders, that jawline like something out of Strong and Firm Magazine’s wettest dreams. And he was sweet, too. And smart and funny and not like any other man she’d ever met. She knew he was, because here they were spending his birthday together and she’d never spent birthdays or holidays or any of that kind of thing with anyone. Not even her own mother.

“I always want to have sex with you. I’d be having sex with you right now if you weren’t wearing a sweater with dancing bears on it. In fact, even that cutesy image isn’t really putting me off.”

He chuckled.

“You’re such a goof.”

She loved him for doing things like calling her such a goof. He said it with such warmth and affection, as though her being silly meant something good, instead of how her other boyfriends had felt about it—that being goofy or silly made her a scattered flake who didn’t fit into their career plans.

Unfortunately, considering their various points about her only made her think about how relevant being goofy was to the idea of becoming some kind of sexual Dominant. Probably not very, right?

Until words came out of her mouth. And they sounded so businesslike and almost alien that her entire body thrilled all over again.

“So. When do you want to get started?”

Sunday, December 26, 2010

Christmas Reading and Watching Marathon

So in the true spirit of Christmas, I've been reading and watching loads of stuff. I got the following for Christmas:

A Kindle
Sims 3
Tetris Party
A sudden and amazing amount of new readers for Past Pleasures, courtesy of All Romance Ebook's "get it free for one day" offer. So far, it has an average of 3/4 stars, which I am so thrilled with I can hardly speak.
Professor Layton
Art Academy (as you already know my fab art skillz, you know this gift is going to be put to good use)
Miranda Series One
Time Travel Machine
Modern Family
The Office Series Six
Sharlto Copley
30 Rock Series Four
The Middle
Supernatural Series 1-5
Loads of chocolate

As usual when you read my blog, be aware of the disclaimer: some items may not be real and are just the product of Charlotte's fevered imagination. But the Past Pleasures one that doesn't seem real? Yeah, that's totally real. I am actually still number one in All Romance Ebook's Time Travel story chart, and number two in their sci-fi chart. Hell, I'm number six in their erotica chart. See here if you don't believe me:

Have never been so high in any chart before, and it's totally made my Christmas.

But anyhoo, back to my reading and watching orgy.

Matched, by Allie Condie: I bought this for my Kindle, and love, love, loved it. Have a big hard-on for dystopian YA at the moment (like the rest of the world), probably because of The Hunger Games. I think I like dystopian YA for two reasons: it's always fast paced easy reading with a bit of subtext, and my mind goes into overdrive, thinking of all the ways I could write similar stories only with loads of bonking. Which is probably really perverse, considering the books are written for teenagers.

Miranda Series One: You know how, like, people say they're totally Samantha, from Sex and the City? Well, I'm not Samantha. I'm not even Carrie. I'm nobody from Sex and the City, because I do not lead a glamorous, sexy life with cocktails and shoes and hair brushing. No, I lead Miranda's life, from the TV show Miranda. She IS me. She really is. I've never seen a closer representation of myself on television, than Miranda. The only difference is that I'm not single. Everything else is identical. The clumsiness, the lack of social skills, the asides, the love of hotel rooms...I can't believe this show ever got made. It seems like they should have made yet another "fat moron gets a hot wife and complains about it" sitcom. I thank God every day that we now live in a world where Miranda gets made, instead.

Tetris Party: Loved it! What you do is, right- you make the blocks go in a particular shape, like a penguin! And if you make a penguin, then you win. Hooray!

I shall be back tomorrow with more things I have watched and read and done. I know you're on tenterhooks.

Tuesday, December 21, 2010

Mancandy Christmas!

Last year, I lusted after Santa. This year, I'm just going to dress up a whole cavalcade of hunks as Santa, and lust after them instead.

Mmmm, phallic.

Oooh, even more phallic glllllrrrrrrrrrrrrr.*

I call this one "terrifyingly phallic".

Uh...his hat slipped?

Okay, I realise this is just getting silly, now.

No, brain. That was not your cue to post a giant picture of a hat penis.

*sigh* See what I have to put up with? And in the season of goodwill to all Mancandy! Merry Christmas, everyone!

*Homer drool

Thursday, December 16, 2010

Some Questions

So Cara McKenna put up some questions over here:

And being all contrary, I decided to answer them here.

Favorite recent book: Dirty Thirty, by Cara McKenna

All-time favorite book: I have three, that represent the different bits of me. Cat's Eye, by Margaret Atwood. Desperation, by Stephen King. Menage, by Emma Holly.

Book that most changed your life: The Madwoman In The Attic, by Sandra Gilbert and Susan Gubar

All-time favorite author: This time, I have four: Margaret Atwood, Stephen King, Christopher Pike, Emma Holly

Favorite band or musical artist: Tori Amos

Favorite album (by any artist): From The Choirgirl Hotel

Best song ever: Let Go, Intimate Strangers

Your favorite song right now: Dancing On My Own, Robyn

Favorite recent movie: Is District 9 recent enough? I've also enjoyed Predators, Buried, The A-Team and Let Me In, but District 9 still overrides them all in terms of the impact it had on me.

All-time favorite movie: Return To Oz

Favorite actor: At the moment, Sharlto Copley

Favorite actress: Sigourney Weaver

Favorite recent (last five years) TV show: The Office

All-time favorite TV show: Frasier

Favorite game (video-, board-, parlor-, drinking-, anything): Super Mario World

Foxiest person alive: My current top five is: Sharlto Copley, Nicholas Lea, Ryan Reynolds, Zachary Quinto, Matthew Macfadyen

Coolest person alive: My best mate.

Funniest comedian, living or dead: Stand up? Dylan Moran

Job you'd love to try for one day: Captain of the Enterprise

Dream car (or other mode of transportation): The Enterprise

If you had to get a tattoo today: I'd get a barcode with LV-426 underneath it. Yeah, that's right. I survived, and now I'm pissed.

Thursday, December 9, 2010

Mancandy Wednesday: Holt, From Closer

Yeah, yeah- I know. Another Mancandy that ties in with a promo I'm doing. But I always feel I have to do some promo and tell people about my latest work, because you know, maybe people genuinely don't know but actually want to!

You're out there, right? People who actually want to. Bertha says no but then she thinks that all those readers who bought and quite probably read The Horizon are just people I made up. She even went as far as to say I forged my first frankly amazing royalty cheque, flew to America, and posted it to myself after sneaking into the offices of Ellora's Cave for that very purpose, because she's weird and actually a figment of my imagination.

And the less said about what she thinks of all those people who added Control on Goodreads, the better. I mean, they're not really just those squiggly demon things from the movie Ghost, haunting the halls of Goodreads. Right? I'm pretty sure they're not. Goodreads isn't even haunted, okay? It's totally not.

But I digress. About figments of my imagination that HATE me.

Where was I? Oh yes. Talking about Holt, from Closer. Holt, who looks a lot like this:

But with glasses. Et voila:

Though there's more to him than the glasses I gave him in Microsoft Paint, I assure you. He's also completely comfortable in his strange sexuality, in a way my heroine is not. And oh, what fun I had watching him persuade her to progress from simply naughty rubbing against strangers on trains, to fullblown filthy sex in public places.

I hope you have fun too, if you read this little snippet of sexy. It's only $1.49 from Ellora's Cave, and you can get it here:

Oh, and here's an excerpt, if you need to wet your whistle:

The urge had gotten so bad she even knew what time of year was best for doing it. Christmas. Christmas was the best time of year for indulging her little habit, because during the holiday season everyone went temporarily insane and forgot things like personal space in an effort to buy useless things no one ever wanted.

They crammed themselves into shops and tinsel-laced streets, wedged their way onto buses and sandwiched their cars into car parks. But best of all, they got on trains. And they didn’t sit, oh no, because old people and pregnant people and jerks who’d gotten there first always sat.

Instead, the people she wanted to be amongst stood, in thin aisles and broad aisles, in the spaces by the toilet and the exits, by luggage racks when bags and brightly wrapped packages filled it up and on it when they didn’t. But better than all of this, they pressed against her. They jostled her. Some anonymous stranger rubbed her when they thought she wasn’t looking or paying attention.

Oh yes. That was the best sort of press.

At first, of course, she’d hated it. There she was, just starting a new job. Her little suits always immaculate, pencil skirts with little kicky pleats and neat, professional, well-tailored jackets. A coat that she’d almost deemed too expensive, and a new, businesslike haircut that would make everyone understand the kind of person she was.

A professional person. A together, carefully kept, in-control sort of person. People would respond well to that and understand she meant business. No one would ever rub up against her on a train, looking the way she did.

But someone had. They’d pressed their front to her back, and on that very first day to work she’d spent her journey there with a mouthful of the man in front. Mortified beyond belief. Unable to understand how so many people could travel to work every day like that, enduring the heaving, sweaty, intrusive presence of so many other people.

How awful. How terrible. How wet it had made her, to feel some anonymous body sliding against hers.

Though naturally, she’d tried to deny it. The next time she’d stood right in the corner, right next to the exit, so nobody could come up on her from behind. Most of her knew that she’d probably imagined the man behind her, rubbing and rubbing, but some part of her said otherwise. He’d probably gone home that night and masturbated thinking about her round ass in her tight skirt.
Maybe he’d wondered how far he could have gone before she protested—a hand on the back of her thigh, perhaps? If he’d lifted her skirt, just a little, would she have cried out?

She didn’t know if she would’ve or not. She only knew that when she’d stood there, wedged in that little corner with some man’s back in front of her, she’d made a little sound just thinking about it. A little cry, for the cry she didn’t make.

Then she’d pressed her body against the man in front.

That was how it started, she knew. That was when it went from disgust, and being pressed, to pressing back. And so quickly too! One second she was a normal person, the next she was getting off on the feel of a hundred strangers, clamoring to get near her body.

Or at least, that was how it felt when she closed her eyes. Like being clamored for.

But better than that were the dirty things she could imagine happening, with barely any effort at all. One time she’d been trapped between three businessmen in their soft wool overcoats, her senses full of their interchangeable and ludicrously rich-smelling man-perfumes. She’d gotten so close to one of them she could have tasted the tang of the shaving gel used to get that gun-metal stubble down to nothing.

So close he could have forced his mouth on hers with very little trouble at all. And then maybe one of his buddies could have pushed a gloved hand up her leg, between her thighs and beneath her skirt.

Of course she would have preferred the fantasy if he hadn’t been wearing gloves, but then that was the problem with getting off on rubbing against people on trains. There were always far too many layers and it never got any better, not even in summer.

At least in winter the secretive peep of the nape of someone’s neck always got close enough. So close she could have just poked out her tongue and licked, and oh she knew she got nearer to it every day. It tempted her constantly, that final perverted step. To just reach out and really touch—it didn’t seem like that big a deal. No one would ever know.

Except for that man sitting over by the window. He’d know.

Friday, December 3, 2010

Uniform Behaviour

Okay, so you know what Lucy Felthouse, writer, reviewer and keeper of Erotic For All did? Yeah, that's right. She went and created and edited a fabulous anthology, on the theme of those sexy peeps in uniforms.

Now I'll confess. I totally enjoy reading about people in uniforms. Especially priests. As I'm sure you've probably guessed already. But I find it incredibly difficult to write on the subject, so I couldn't sub and so kind of hate Lucy for doing uniforms. Why not vampires, Lucy? Why not an anthology called Weird Repressed Weirdoes Do Weird Things To Some Chick?

Oh wait. I know why. Cos it doesn't sound half as hot as this, dammit:

Do you get all weak-kneed at the sight of a grubby fireman or a hunky soldier? Perhaps immaculately-dressed waiting-on staff get you feeling frisky? If so, you’ve come to the right place.

Uniform Behaviour contains sixteen smutty stories about firemen, soldiers, sailors, police, security guards and even waiters, priests and cleaners!

Delve into this anthology and enjoy steamy stories from established erotica authors including Justine Elyot, Craig J Sorensen, Victoria Blisse, Shermaine Williams, Elizabeth Coldwell and Lucy Felthouse. Uniform Behaviour also proudly introduces some exciting debut authors. So remember, you saw them here first!

As well as being written and compiled for your titillation, this anthology is also designed to do good. A portion of the proceeds from Uniform Behaviour will be donated to UK charity Help for Heroes, which helps those wounded in current conflict.

The stories in this anthology have been hand-picked by a uniform aficionado, so you can rest assured that only the sexiest erotic fiction lies in this eBook.

So hot, right? And for a good cause, too! Get your to buy links right here, right now, cos I know you want to get your mitts on it:

What are you waiting for?

Monday, November 29, 2010

Mancandy Monday: Jamie and Blake

So I'm in the middle of my neverending zombie apocalypse epic. Or more accurately, I'm towards what probably should be near the end at 48,000 words, but is actually nowhere near the end at all.

Mainly because I don't think I want to leave the two guys at the centre of the action too early. I just don't. I can tell. I want my heroine to keep porking them until the end of time, and at the moment she's only just started getting into the really dirty stuff.

She needs at least another 20k, in order to progress towards even dirtier, filthier stuff. I mean, come on. She's just been through two years of zombie hell. She had to mow them down in a big truck. Her best friend is dead. She deserves 20k extra of hot lovin', surely?

And I mean, just look at them.



They're hot, right? And if this makes my novel kind of like The A-Team only with more zombies and more nakedness and loads of threesomes, then so be it. I got no trouble with that. I wish The A-Team movie HAD contained more zombies and nakedness and threesomes. It could have been called "Sharlto Copley and Bradley Cooper Get Nude A Lot, Then Run Away From Zombies".

I mean, I don't know where the threesome equation comes into that, but after I've sat for an hour watching their wangs flap around in the breeze as they try to evade being eaten, I'm sure I could come up with something. After all, it's The A-Team. They could probably build a woman out of old bits of pipe and half a car battery.

And then you know. They do something with the woman they've built. Even though that sounds kind of depressing and like some sort of commentary on how sad and alone we all are, and especially when there's a zombie apocalypse going on.

Plus, just to be clear- my novel isn't really about two guys building a robot woman after being chased naked by zombies. Because that would just be...well. It would be totally orsum, but that's not the story I've written. I feel you need some sort of realism in a zombie apocalypse story, and that kind of gets chipped away just by having the zombies and the eventual threesome, so best that I avoided the whole robot angle.

And went with them finding a human woman who's dead inside, and then bringing her gradually back to life with the healing power of their total magnificent handsome orsumness.

God. Can you imagine if The A-Team movie had been like THAT? I mean, don't get me wrong. I loved it. I loved Murdock saying "Bosco, the buttons are confusing me". But how much better would it have been if he'd said "Bosco, my sexual feelings are confusing me"? Even if I have to confess I kind of can't get into A-Team slash that much because weirdly, Sharlto Copley/Murdock seems like the least gay man to ever exist in the history of the world.

It stretches the bounds of credibility, for me. Probably in the same way that having your heroes and your heroine bonk for the rest of the apocalypse stretches the bounds of credibility. But come on. I totally owe her that extra 20k of hot lovin'. I killed her whole family, after all. She should totally be allowed thousands and thousand of words about horny sex with hot guys.

Tuesday, November 23, 2010

Fun Facts About Control

So Madelynne Ellis did this. And I liked it. So I thought I'd do it, too.

But first, I just have to point out this amazing thing: Control is £2.80 on Amazon UK (for paperback!) and $4.21 on the Kindle on Amazon US! Can you believe that? Bargain, right? And since I'm sure this is some sort of one week only deal, grab a copy while you can!

Anyway, where was I? Ah yes. Fun facts about Control.

1. It was originally going to be set in a library. But then I realised I couldn't have half the kinky shenanigans going on, actually in the library. They'd be far too noisy. I mean a blowjob alone makes not just a bunch of pleasured groans, but a whole cavalcade of lip smackings and suction noises. Whereas the bookstore gave me a lot of...ahem...freedom.

2. At first, the book was going to be largely about Andy. Then it was going to be largely about Gabe. And then I realised it would be much more fun to just put the two together to make one shaky, horny menage. Hooray!

3. Andy is based on Alex O'Loughlin.

4. Gabe is based on...well. I'm sure you know by now who Gabe is based on.

5. Madison is based on...I don't know. Me, I guess? Though the odd and probably telling thing is that Gabe's obsession with horny books is actually my obsession. His story about discovering horniness through a horror story? That's from my life. So maybe we won't look too deeply into that.

6. The books named in Control are based on Menage, The Top Of Her Game, Crash Course, On Demand, The Stranger and Dreamers In Time. It's my homage to Black Lace, of course. In fact, my early love of Black Lace probably informed the book more than any other thing.

7. I did actually pick a specific street in York where I imagined the book shop being. We used to pass it often on the way to the cinema, and notice it because it had a big glaring sex shop right in the middle! I imagine Wicked Words would be just as glaring.

8. I totally wish Wicked Words was real. I basically created my fantasy book shop, and I swear to God I'd be in there every day. Of course, in reality it probably wouldn't survive three seconds. Thank God for fantasy! In fact, its survival is probably the most fantastical thing in the entire book.

So there you have it. I can't think of any more, now. Though if you've read the book, and have any questions about why I wrote about this weird thing or that, please feel free to ask! Not to mention enter the competition that's still going on. Just email me with the fake titles of some of the books in Control, and you could be in with a chance of winning my entire ebook backlist, plus three Cleis anthologies!

Monday, November 15, 2010

Mancandy Monday: Andy Yarrow From Control

Now, I know you all know why I dig Gabriel Kauffman so hard. He ticks all the boxes I often babble on about, on this blog. The repressed box. The dark-haired box. The sweater-vest box. The dick in a box. Etcetera.

But Andy Yarrow is more of a mystery. He ticks boxes I don't often think about, and man alive he ticks them hard. He doesn't give a shit if I have boxes or not. He just wants to get out his big tick and...

Well. I'm sure you get the picture.

You see, as much as I love a beta man, and as much as I love femdom...I do find that I like a contrast with those things. When I'm developing a huge stonking beast of a novel, I need some light, to the shade. Some aggressive to the submissive. Some alpha to the beta.

And that's what Andy is.

However, I think it's unfair to say to a totally fictional character that he's just the contrast to Gabriel's uptight submissive, because really, he was kind of around before Gabe was. The novel started out with him, looking all hot and surly and sweaty and tattooed. Based, pretty clearly, on this slab of man-flesh:

Then it suddenly sprouted Gabe, right when I hadn't even been considering going the femdom route. Which makes it sound as though I was very surprised by this- but I probably shouldn't have been. When I crush, I usually start off with someone obvious and handsome and probably a bit of a jerk- like, say Sirius Black.

And then suddenly I find myself utterly and hopelessly mad for Remus Lupin, who has crept up on me like something I didn't even know I wanted. Like something insiduous and with claws, that grips onto my brain and my lust hubs and won't let go.

The ones that creep never let me go. They stay in my imagination forever, and demand sequels, and I look back on them fondly like old lovers I never had.

Where as the Andys...yeah. The Andys are a little more disposable. A little more casual. Ready to jerk on my lust hubs* whenever I'm in the mood. But hey- I'm pretty sure that's just the way they like it.

Want a taste of Control? It's now totally available on Amazon, on either the Kindle or in paperback, US or UK. And it's available at Xcite, too!

*No, I've no idea what lust hubs are, either. They're not my boobs. Shut up. They're not.

Saturday, November 13, 2010

Cora Zane: Connection

So the lovely Cora Zane (who I always secretly believe is secretly married to Billy Zane) has a book out over at the Cave, and she asked me if I'd do a post for her about it on my blog. To which I said yes, cos she's orsum and her novella is orsum and it's her first one for EC, and I know how nervous I was when that happen all those millions of...hours ago.

So here it is!

Fabulous cover:

Super amazing blurb (seriously. How amazing is this blurb? It sounds like the most interesting story of all time):

Gage is a cyber vampire, an AI being who feeds off energy, sexual and otherwise. Kiri loves that they can feel each other’s pleasure during sex…during those electric moments when Gage slips his fangs into her neck ports.

Kiri knew from the start Gage wanted a no-strings relationship, but hadn’t realized his bite would grant him access to her heart. Hadn’t counted on being so lost to pleasure she lets loose her innermost desire. Now Gage knows her secret, and Kiri can’t bring herself to face him.

But Gage has a secret too. He’s found more than sexual satisfaction with Kiri. He’s discovered the ultimate connection—and he’ll prove it the second he’s back in her bed.

Amazing flawless excerpt:

"An Excerpt From: CONNECTIONCopyright © CORA ZANE, 2010All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc.

“You’re more than welcome to join us,” Adam offered. Once again his gaze settled on her neck ports, and she shivered at the way his gaze caressed her like a physical touch. As androids, cyber vampires fed off sensual energy rather than blood. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind what this one wanted from her.

With his card tucked between his fingers and his arm resting on the back of the booth again, he created a space near the edge for her to sidle in next to him if that was her wish. “Interested?”

“Um, thanks, but…” Kiri just shook her head.

He’s not Gage. Fucking him won’t fix things.

She hated herself for having to rationalize it.

Ignoring the way her clit throbbed, she tucked the serving tray under her arm and left the suite in an effort to distance herself from the temptation. Once outside, she shut the door behind her and headed down the glass walkway that ran all the way around the cylinder-shaped club, connecting the circle of third-floor suites overlooking the main club area. A discreet stairwell tucked farther down the walkway spiraled behind the inner walls of the building, connecting the multiple levels.

As Kiri reached the stairwell, she stopped to look out over the glass riser edging the walkway, gazing down at the light show that pulsed and flickered over the dance floor. Instead of going straight down to check in at the bar, she stepped back into the shadows of the tiny third-floor landing and pressed her back against the wall on the other side of a waist-high vase of peacock orchids.

The music vibrated through her, the booming bass matching the desire throbbing through her body. Her inner thighs were slick with cream, her cunt aching for a man’s attention. She couldn’t get her mind off the scene in the suite. Kiri clamped her eyes shut tight, her conscience turning over the many reasons why she shouldn’t—why she wouldn’t—accept the blond man’s offer. There were many, but still her body nagged her for release. Craving a quick climax, she glanced off to the right, around the large plume of flowers, to see if anyone was coming up the stairs and saw no one. She was alone.

Heart galloping, her skin tingling with urgent need, she slipped her hand beneath her skirt, hesitating when her fingertips grazed the edge of her panties.

She wondered if she was far back enough from the glass riser to prevent anyone from looking up and seeing her. Were the shadows dark enough for true concealment?

To hell with it. Getting caught seemed a much lesser punishment than going unfulfilled."

And finally, to buy link. Because what are you waiting for?

Thursday, November 11, 2010

Elise Hepner: Thumbtacks

So one day, I got a mentee called Elise. And she kept fighting even when I was Miss Bossy Pants and gave her tough lessons that Gabriel Kauffman would balk at, and she kept writing, and then one day she got her dream! A short story in a Rachel Kramer Bussel anthology! She's on her way, hooray!

But she's also an impatient little minxy, and a determined-to-get-her-work-out-there little scamp, so while you're waiting for her wonderful story in RKB's quickie anthology, she's only gone and self-pubbed something for your delectation!

And here it is, in all its glory.

Stupendous blurb:


Tyler and Brie share a quirky fetish--office supplies. Unable to embrace their mutual needs and desires in a work environment, the women have been meeting in secret every week to troll the local office supply store for a little foreplay. But now it's no longer enough.

Driven by their boss's orders that they go pick out a new printer for the office, they are unable to fight their mutual desire for each other while surrounded by so much temptation. What follows is a torrid session in office politics that could get them fired--and laid.

Magnificent excerpt:

"Tyler's gaze skittered across her co-worker’s features as if she were afraid if she looked too long she would give in to her lustful cravings. Brie wasn’t helping by drawing attention to her luscious mouth that would look perfect locked onto Tyler’s nipple. Their gazes connected. Brie’s eyes were suggestive all the time, but she acted like a woman who just didn’t understand she was a walking billboard for sex. Her eyes were a light green like the skin of a Granny Smith apple flecked with gold and the long, extra large kid’s pencil she shoved in her scarlet hair to keep it in a bun never failed to capture Tyler’s attention. Every day it was a new pencil. Today there were multicolored hearts with a rainbow eraser. What would it be like to do luscious acts with that long, firm piece of wood? Barely breathing, Tyler crossed her arms tight hoping to draw attention away from her hard, aching nipples.

“I think the laser printer with the large paper capacity and fold out tray would be handy to have around the office. Optional color is something most of the staff have never seen before and it’ll help with Power Point print outs and graphing.”

Thank god. When she found her voice it only came out slightly tremulous.

“Whatever you think is best.”

When Brie deferred to her like this her pulse roared in her ears. Her co-worker’s melodious voice was soft, like a Disney princess, and it awoke in her a feeling of longing that Tyler hadn’t known existed. It was a fight to hold back the thought of that voice lost in orgasm, crying out her name. So many fantasies sifted through her mind. Greed grasped onto her lust until nothing else made sense but burying her face in those perky, milky white breasts and opening up a sexual self that had been lost through all the late nights and early days at the office. Dominant, power hungry thoughts that had never entered her mind until she met this woman—and now she couldn’t seem to stop them. Caught in minute-by-minute fantasies, until her flesh burned with a blush that made her throat tight. Now Tyler’s fingers tensed into fists. Better to keep her hands from pulling back into all that gorgeous, scarlet hair until Brie whimpered in pleasure and the over-sized pencil of the day hit the floor. It wasn’t polite to maul someone in public."

And the to buy link. Because you know you want it.

Monday, November 8, 2010

Mancandy Monday: Gabriel Kauffman From Control

If you know me, you know before I explain it what Gabriel Kauffman is like. Light of my life. Grain in my coffee. Apple of my eye. My ideal man: Gabriel Kauffman.

But let's say you don't know me. You have no idea that Gabriel Kauffman is one of the main characters in my first ever novel, Control. Or that he is bound to be a certain way, because I have a kink in my make-up, a fetish for this sort of man, an uncontrollable urge to smear him all over my writing because of many things, all of them strange.

In which case, allow me to paint a picture of Gabriel. And also a picture of the insides of my head, thusly:

1. He puts plastic on his furniture. I honestly don't know why I find a man who puts plastic on his furniture so compelling, or so sexy. Maybe it's the smell of polythene. Maybe it's the thought of him lovingly encasing everything but his penis in giant condoms. Maybe I should just move on to the next thing about Gabriel, and why I like him.

2. He side parts his hair. Oh God, for a man who side parts his hair! The rigidity. The nerdiness. The urge in me to lick the line of white between the two wings of black...oh.

3. His hairiness. Yep, I've said it before and I'll say it again. There is nothing quite like a man who's outwardly repressed and uptight, but inwardly hard-bodied and covered in manly hair and I'll move onto the next one to fully expand on this concept.

4. The fact that he surreptitiously reads dirty books. Mainly ones aimed at women. I loved writing him and just loved him for that for two reasons. a) It meant I got to express my love for Black Lace and the burgeoning erotic romance genre through him, in a cheeky way and b) It means he's horny. Beneath the glasses and the general Clark Kent get up and the tweed, Gabriel Kauffman is irrepressibly, rampantly horny.

And that, ladies and gents, is why I adore Gabriel Kauffman. It's why I wrote a good half of a book about him and his adventures with Madison Morris and Andy Yarrow. And you can read that book right now, because it's out today.

It's not yet up on Amazon, but you can get it through third party sellers, here:
You can buy it here on the Kindle:

Or you can get it direct from Xcite, in PDF or paperback form:

(where it's also three for two on most of their erotic books)

Or here at the Xcite US store:

Or you can enter a giveaway to win a copy, here, at Goodreads:

And you can also enter a competition that I'm going to do right here- though this one's going to be a little different. It might not work. Maybe this is a dumb idea. But I'm going to give it a go anyway cos I was never one to shy away from dumbness. As you know.

Anyhoo, here it is: buy a copy of Control. PDF, paperback, doesn't matter. Read it, and then email me with the answer to the following question:

1. Name the four books Madison finds in Gabriel's drawer under the bed, that she then cites as her favourites.

The competition will close on December 1st, at which point I'll draw out a name from the hat. And because I'm asking you to go to some trouble in order to win this competition, the winner will receive a far more fabulous and cool prize than just one plain old copy of my newest release. Oh yes. The winner will receive a copy of all of my ebooks - including the upcoming Master Me anthology from Total-E-Bound - and paperback copies of the Cleis Press anthologies Fairytale Lust, Fast Girls and Orgasmic.

What do you think? If you like it, enter it! Maybe you've already bought Control, in which case- easy peasy! But remember- don't comment with your answer. Email me at

Even if it's just to tell me how dumb this idea is.

Next week: Andy Yarrow, and how man-candy-licious he is.

Thursday, November 4, 2010


I'm writing this post because it'll show up on Goodreads, and then possibly all the people who've been good enough to enter my contest for Control, and add my book, and friend me and do that fan thing will maybe get to know how much I appreciate them.

Thank you so much, every one of you. Thank you, thank you. It means the world to me, even if many of you entered or added my book cos you thought it was that other Control. I don't care why you're here. I'm just thrilled that you are.

And now I don't want to sound like some stupid Oscar speech person or like some braggart or some smug or summat, so I'll just leave it at that.


Charlotte Stein

Tuesday, October 26, 2010

Mancandy Monday: Niles Crane

Don't look at me like that. He's hot, okay? Or more accurately, I've been watching a lot of Frasier, recently, and I keep noticing little weird things about him that disguise themselves as hot. Or maybe they don't disguise themselves. Maybe they are just hot. I don't know.

I've compiled a list, to help me decide:

1. He's really hairy. I know when you look at him it doesn't seem like he's hairy, but I promise he is. You can take my word for it. Though really, you're going to have to take my word for it because I mysteriously can't find a bare-chested picture of him.

2. Whenever he's about to say something witty, he gets this little cheeky glint in his eye. I deeply enjoy the contrast between witty, and cheeky. As though witty to him is just cheeky, because he's that brilliant or I don't know. I'm just rambling now about stuff in his eyeballs.

3. All the random bursts of total horniness. He's uptight and stuffy and he wipes chairs down before he sits on them. And yet he lusts like a lusty thing on lust day after Daphne, and various other women on the show. If you read this blog often, you'll know why this bangs my gong. Because I like men who are probably gay sniffing a woman's hair, I guess.

4. He's one of the greatest comedy characters to ever be on television. No really, he is. He's all the things that Frasier isn't, and all the ridiculous lengths Frasier won't go to. His comic timing is impeccable, he's sharp and dry and has an imaginary wife for most of the series. He utters the immortal line "You got to pick where you would be having your sleepings", and forever after I've called falling asleep as doing sleepings. Few characters come close to Niles Crane in terms of comedic flawlessness- maybe Blackadder. Possibly Bender. Could be that Rimmer makes it.

But the problem with Rimmer and Blackadder and Bender?

They're not Niles Crane.

Thursday, October 21, 2010

Things I Have Looked At With My Eyeballs, Recently

Gentlemen Broncos: You know what's wrong with Gentlemen Broncos? Well, apart from the fact that it doesn't have enough Sam Rockwell. But then, most movies don't have enough Sam Rockwell, so maybe we'll just set that aside. For another time, like Sam Rockwell Appreciation Day. When we'll all get together and demand that Sam Rockwell be digitally edited into every movie ever, like that 30 Rock episode with Seinfeld only instead of Seinfeld Vision it'll be Rockwell Vision, and I'll get to see his butt (YES!) bobbing between Kim Basinger's legs forever, instead of Mickey Rourke's butt (ugh).

I'll even rename the movie. Nine and a Half Sam Rockwells. And we all know what I'm referring to, when I talk about the nine and a half. Right?

But I digress. About Sam Rockwell. When I should be talking about what's wrong with Gentlemen Broncos, which is namely this: the central conflict does not occur until about five hundred years into the film.

It's a film about an author stealing a kid's novel, but this event and its repercussions don't happen until I'm too bored and kind of angry to care. Because I mean, if most authors I know get pulled up on this sort of stuff - even the famous ones - why on earth did Jared Hess get away with it? Didn't some person from a screenwriting class he clearly didn't attend think to say: hey. Your trigger event is triggering after most of the movie has occurred. The rest of it is just boring waffly filler. It's not even funny!

Apart from when Sam Rockwell's being a space transvestite. Then it's funny. And orsum. But that's purely by virtue of Sam Godwell's presence.

Gah, the whole thing just made me actually believe I could have written it better. I'd have pulled the conflict forward, had them fighting for the rest of the film, then used the flashes of his novel to mirror the events going on in reality more closely. Or at least in a way that makes the whole thing moving or funny or just fookin's something, God.

As Napolean Dynamite would say. In his far superior film. What went wrong, Jared?

The Horde: Ugh, I'm bored. You're boring me, The Horde. How do you make a film about French gangsters being attacked by fast running zombies with super human strength boring? I don't know, but The Horde managed it. I fell asleep in the middle, and did not have terrible nightmares about the zombie apocalypse and Murdock rescuing me in his helicopter. That's how bad the Horde was.

The Office: The Office makes my life. That's all I have to say about that. No seriously, it does. It's a sad fact to admit, but I think there are moments in The Office that have made me more purely happy than most of the stuff in my actual life has. When Michael said he didn't make up what him and Holly had, I burst with this joy. So much love in me, for The Office.

Frasier: I have been re-watching every season, because I'm burnt out and just want to lie in my bed and have a sitcom wash over me like the tide. And Frasier fulfils this task nicely. Also, while I watch it I get to ogle Niles who is totally hot shut up he is God that deadpan stare, that mouth, his prissiness...I want him to wipe me down, the way he wipes down chairs. I want him to press my trousers when they have a single wrinkle in them, though I will be in the trousers as he does the pressing. I want him to sniff my hair and take me to the opera and talk to me about the antique footstool he just bought oh God...oh God why are my crushes so weird? And always obviously gay?

I can't write convincing erotic romance about men who are obviously gay falling for women.

Stupid Frasier.

Thursday, October 14, 2010

Mancandy Thursday: Beards

No, not the kind that hangs off Bradley Cooper's arm. And by that, I don't mean he has an actual rug of hair on his elbow. You know what I mean. Or maybe you don't because like me, weird extended rumours about celebrities and their hidden sexual activities kind of disturb you. I mean, you might be gay, Bradley Cooper. But somehow, I don't think you hook up with guys you found on Craigslist through a hole you cut in a bedsheet.

Sidenote: I hate Blind Items. They're the journalistic equivalent of the bitchy girls in high school, talking just loudly enough so you know they're talking about you, about something you've never done, or maybe you did do but it's nobody's business, or you're not ready to talk about it, or God, just shut up bitchy girls.

But I digress. About Blind Items. That are apparently now starting to leak into real reporting about some celebs, as though it's all just a given now. Jake Gyllenhaal apparently has a secret baby with a man, and I didn't find that out by reading a Blind Item. In fact, I don't find any of these things out by reading the actual Blind Items, wherever they are or come from. They're just everywhere now, like cockroaches. Ugh.

On to something nice! Like my sudden fetish for men who can grow lush, full beards. I mean, just check it out:

Now, this is just a micro beard. But the thing about Paddy Considine is- I know he can grow a full...uh...bush. And so I appreciate this little starter plan, because it holds the promise of lushness. Soon I'll be able to run my hands through his glorious chin garden. Soon.

Yep. That's Bradley Cooper with a beard. An actual beard. Not Rene Zellweger hanging off his chin.

And here's Jake Gyllenhaal with a beard! I bet he hides his secret baby in there. It has to be for some purpose, because I don't actually like this beard all that much. True, it's full. Sure, it's lush. But it's also a funny colour, and I have to say- I prefer a dark beard.

Like this one. Here. Here is the Lord of All Beards. I mean, did you ever see a more beautiful beard, than that one? It makes this guy - Joshua Gomez - look like Paddy Considine, but strangely, his beard is actually superior to Paddy's full bush.

Just look at it. So textured, so rich with unspoken treasures. And this beard, I feel, has a dual meaning, because Josh Gomez is only five foot seven. He's a very slight, unassuming sort of fella. He plays the sidekick, on Chuck. He's nothing, really.


Man, that hits my kink buttons. Nothing better than a secret vein of raging testosterone, beneath the calm surface. And hairiness - especially hot, hairy beards - always signifies this. Always.

I want to dance in the garden of your beard, Josh Gomez.

Wednesday, October 6, 2010

Stuff and Giveaways

Okay, so a while back I did a giveaway of Threefold and The Horizon. But no-one claimed their prizes! However, it has since occurred to me that people didn't see me announcing the winners, back there in the comments, so I thought I'd try again!

The winners were:

Jo and Kate Pearce! If you're out there, ladies, come and snaffle your prizes!

But all you millions of lovely people who are now undoubtedly stuffed full of misery at thought of not winning, never fear! Because here's the other thing I'm posting about:

Elise Hepner's rally for the beta male, featuring a massive giveaway of all the things I've ever written! Hoorah! Just visit her here and comment, and you too could be the winner of a prize that you might not know you've won!

Oh and finally, I also wanted to faint slightly over the review I got, in the JERR newsletter. Yep, they reviewed Past Pleasures. But even more miraculously than that: they liked it!

"Title: Past Pleasures: Desire Through Time 1
Author: Charlotte Stein
Publisher: Total E Bound
Reviewer: Tallyn Porter
Rating: 4 Stars
Heat Level: S

Kate Connor is a writer hired by Professor Charles Waites of Visiotech to be the guinea pig of sorts for his time machine invention. Hired to record what future Earth is like seems like something out of a Hollywood movie. But when Kate ends up in the year 3033 in the living quarters of Aley and Tem, does Kate crave to discover what this future holds especially when she finds out that women have become extinct?

Past Pleasures is a carefully crafted romantic science fiction story about finding love in the distant future. Kate is an intelligent, caring and humorous character who is the right person to be teleported to the future. Her outlook of 3033 is quite comical and laced with a sarcastic undertone which at times had me chuckling at how she perceives this pristine 1984 kind of future.

Aley and Tem have this innocent quality about them that you can’t help but be attracted to their honest and easy going personas. Aley has this direct approach to everything new while Tem is the more soft spoken character yet both are quite memorable and charming. The extinction of women in the future does give this story an interesting twist and Ms. Stein could have taken this story beyond the limits with this idea but I’m quite relieved that she focused mainly on Kate, Aley and Tem’s relationship.

I found the love scenes quite interesting as Aley and Tem had to rediscover how to be with a woman. The way they both took care of Kate as if she was a fragile piece of glass with such tenderness and passion, I just have to sigh. The complexity of Aley and Tem’s relationship was lacking something but adding Kate to their relationship definitely added spice to their lives. The sterile ambience of this futuristic story definitely provided such a lonely and desolate environment making Kate, Aley and Tem’s relationship elevate into something more like breaking all the time barriers.

I found Past Pleasures enjoyable and I look forward to reading future stories from this author."

Thank you, Tallyn!

In fact, I've had quite a bit of good feedback, for my little future-where-there's-no-women-and-then-a-woman-turns-up menage bonkathon. Behold!

Inorite? Miraculous! Just when you think you're never going to make it as an erotic romance writer and no-one will ever read your work and people might even start actively burning your books, for their crimes against literature...this happens.

The relief, she is palpable.

Monday, October 4, 2010

Mancandy Monday: Daniel Dreiberg

There are three ways in which Daniel Dreiberg is actually probably my ideal man.

1) He is the most totally beta that ever beta-ed. He's so beta, he's practically omega. He's so beta, that v-necked jumpers and tank tops aren't enough for him. He has to wear an actual honest-to-God cardigan.

I swear, it's a cardigan! Look at him here, in the movie version of Watchmen:

That's a cardigan. And it's, like, olive.

Plus, check out his hair! The massive glasses! The worried look on his anxious face! Be still, my aching woman-parts.

2) He's secretly a super hero. Yeah. You heard that right. So while everyone's busy laughing (except for me) at how much of a beta he is, and maybe plotting to steal his lunch money, and possibly talking about how much tougher that nerd Clark Kent is than him, what's Daniel Dreiberg doing?

That's right, bitches. He's saving people from actual riots. He's braving burning buildings, being his secret badass Nite Owl self. He's only fookin' flying around in the goddamned owl ship he built with his own two beta geek hands.

And did he need to advertise that fact? No, he did not. Does he make you feel like a whimpering, simpering idiot, because he just saved your life? Of course he doesn't.

Because the whole time he's Nite Owl, he's also Dan Dreiberg. Who is all the many things I love about beta men: kind, considerate, intelligent, funny, humble, and a roaring repressed animal in bed.

3) But wait. Wait for the kicker. THIS is the man playing Daniel Dreiberg.

Yeah, I can't hear those mean girls laughing now, Dan. The jocks have all fallen silent. Because THIS is what you look like, underneath.

But I want you to know, Dan, that I don't care. Wear those glasses forever. Have that weird receding hairline until the end of time. You go on, rocking that olive cardigan. I don't mind if you never look like Patrick Wilson. I don't mind if you're not in your Nite Owl rubber.

It's you who makes me hot, Dan. Just you. I want to have lots of butt-thrusting sex with you to the song Hallelujah, and comfort you when you're feeling impotent, and beat up bad guys in alleys with you.

That Laurie Jupiter is soooo lucky.

Friday, October 1, 2010

Authors Behaving Badly

Here's a sample of some responses you should never give to a bad review:

"Dear Mr Reviewer, I'm sooooo glaaaaaaaad you hated my book. And your review was just great! In case you can't tell, I'm being sarcastic. You STINK. You are a senile, buck-toothed old mummy with bony girl arms, and you smell like an elephant's butt! Not sincerely, BB Author."*

But the one above? Yeah, it's obviously a terrible response to a reviewer. Absolutely terrible! I mean, the author has called the reviewer an elephant's butt! You can't get much worse than that. Even the silliest of authors would know that's a bad, bad response. Of course, some do it anyway. But more frequently you see this one, because it's a little more sly. As you're writing it, you could almost convince yourself that really, you're being super nice and decent:

"Dear Mr Reviewer, well, you know it's strange. Everyone else liked my book. In fact, all the other people who liked my book are extremely intelligent, well read and all round wonderful people. How odd, that you didn't like it. I mean, I know that there are many, many twists and turns and highly intellectual moments in my book- it takes a lot of really insightful reading. So I suppose I guessed that there would be some who wouldn't get it. But thanks for giving your little review of it, anyway. With slick and slightly queasy sincereity, BB Author."

But believe me, you're not being super nice and decent. We ALL know what you're doing, and almost all of us don't like it. As a reader, the above makes me mad. As an author, the above makes me cringe.

And then there's this one. The one that my hero and future husband, Christopher Pike, did only a few short days ago:

"Dear Reviewer, well yeah, I know that so and so isn't the capital of where-is-it. But actually, it was all my editors fault. Yeah. My fake, sockpuppet editor, who I'm pretending to be now. Plus, you're an idiot. And I think you're threatening me and that you know nothing about country X, even though you're from said country. Sincerely, An Author Who Writes Good Reviews For Themselves Under Said Same Sockpuppet."

As in THIS, pointed out by Dear Author and the Smart Bitches, amongst others:

I could have cried. I mean, the above is my true reason for writing this post. After all, I can take it when some writer I don't really know all that well does it. I can understand, in particular, when it's someone "small", because...well. We all feel on edge, sometimes. I got an absolutely terrible, mortifying, feeling-like-my-career-is-over review the other day, and it means double to me because I'm just starting out. A bad review could mean the difference between making sales and not, for me. I know many authors who are in that same position with me, and when they strike out at a bad review I can sympathise, even as I'm cringing and begging them, mentally, to resist and see the positives of a bad review. At least it means someone read it!

But Christopher Pike? You've sold millions of books, Chris. You are established. One review will not hurt you. And you don't need to give good reviews to yourself, either, because you KNOW people love you! You don't need to prompt people to buy, for God's sake. And if I, and many of my author pals, can resist giving ourselves good reviews (I'm not even sure, to be honest, how Chris managed to write those things about his own work without puking), and resist slamming bad reviews or even just readers who have EVERY DAMNED RIGHT TO VOICE THEIR OPINION, then so can you.

Otherwise, I may not one day marry you. And you don't want that, do you? No. Didn't think so.

*My thanks to The Simpsons, for the greatest non-thankyou letter of all time.

Monday, September 27, 2010

Mancandy Monday: The Only Alpha In My Harem

You may have heard: I like beta heroes. Correction: I love beta heroes. In fact, if I were truly being honest, I kind of like the greek letter that comes after beta. I'm halfway down the bloody alphabet. I like omicron heroes. Which sounds even more alpha than alpha, weirdly, and also like he's the star of some weird sci-fi novel about the code that unlocks the universe and lets out creepy space monkeys or some other such nonsense.

I call it: The Omicron Factor. Yeah, definitely space monkeys in that one, somewhere.

But all of this immense and unwieldy digression aside, I do like one alpha. There is one true balls-to-the-wall-chugs-drill-bits-instead-of tea-arms-like-trucks-sweats-viagra alpha in my imaginary harem of hot heroes. One real man's man, of the sort who probably wipes engine grease on his many cut-off items of clothing, when he's done at work for the day. One hairy, temple popping, testerone rippled, unadultered slab of man-meat.

CJ, from the Dawn of the Dead remake.

Yeah. Just fookin' look at him. It's like my brain and my loins have opposite day, when it comes to this guy. Like my brain and my loins revolt for one sheer instant of man-beast, because of all the Gabriel Grays I put them through.

When they go alpha, they go full alpha. I mean, have you seen the Dawn of the Dead remake? He's a security guard at a mall, for one. I mean, stereotypically speaking, you don't get much more hopped up on crazy testerone juiceballs than that. And then he pushes everyone around with his big gun and gets all pissy about there being a zombie apocalypse going on.

But that's not even getting into these images of gratuitous facial hair porn:

Which is the point where my loins spontaneously burst into flames. I mean...his hair is just And his eyes black. And his soul is

But worse than this: he's played by Michael Kelly. who has the most masculine face in the history of the universe (especially with that fookin' handlebar and goatee thing he's rocking), but also has a mysteriously gentle voice.

That's right, folks. He's the alpha who cares. He only goes and saves everyone from a goddamned zombie apocalypse, at the end! He's like the prototypical romance alpha. He has the entire asshole alpha to dominant provider storyline! Only in a zombie movie.

How orsum is that? I'll tell you how orsum that is: very. And though I don't often like great hulking brutes who are also assholes in my erotic romance, I do like him, doing that, in a zombie movie. And I mean, not enough to write stories based on him, all the time. Not enough to oust my betas (no matter how much flack I get for writing them, I'm going to keep coming back for more. They deserve it, because girls do want to make passes at boys who wear glasses. I know they do. They're somewhere out there, those readers who love betas. You're out there, aren't you? Please be out there!), but enough to one day maybe write my zombie apocalypse epic.

With him as the dirty, filthy star.

Wednesday, September 22, 2010

The Business of Pleasure

Yeah, you heard that right. See that title, there? That's the actual title of Justine Elyot's latest book. And I mean, that title alone makes you want to eat it, doesn't it? But then pair that title with the name Justine Elyot, and you've got a feast for the senses, an erotic delight, a masterpiece of dirty deeds and domination and all the usual wonders Justine is so good at making cool for little beta-guy-loving me.

But okay. Maybe you're not convinced yet. Maybe you need a little more persuasion. How about this?


Check out that cover. That's right. How hot is that? I'll tell you how hot. Awesomely hot. The Business of Pleasure doesn't just get orsumly, either. It gets the full works, the proper word: AWESOMELY.

What's that you say? You're still not convinced to go out and buy this delicious treat? First off: what's wrong with you? Second off:

If one call could set you on a trail to the heart of your darkest fantasy, would you make it? Charlotte does, and her bold decision propels her into a world where no desire is too outrageous, decadent or extravagant to be satisfied - for a price. Her own fantasy life merges with reality when she is hired to work for the shadowy organisation she first encountered as a client. She organises an array of wild set pieces involving banquets, film productions, mansions full of pleasure slaves, as well as thoroughly researching those requests that chime with her own kinky tastes. Two men, one woman, and every sexual fantasy imaginable - these are the ingredients that make up the business of pleasure.


Mega hot synopsis.*

And if you're still not convinced, then I can only imagine you're thinking...yeeeaaah. Justine Elyot? She's, like, Charlotte's bezzie mate, isn't she? No wonder she's pimping her book! They probably passed brown parcels, under the table! They probably snog, on Wednesdays.

Well I tell you what- we do not snog on Wednesdays. Tuesdays, maybe. Never Wednesdays. And even if we did snog on every single day of the week, I should also inform you: I didn't become Justine's friend because we met at a swanky soiree, where we drank canapes and ate wine and told each other we'd conspire to take over the world.

Oh no no. For a start, I've never been to a swanky soiree. There aren't any swanky soirees, in an erotic author's life, sad to say. Instead, I read her story in the anthology Liaisons. And I thought- hello hello hello. What's all this then? Because apparently it was so good, it briefly turned me into a police officer.

And then I searched out her blog, because I'm a creeping creeper and when I like someone's work, I damn well tell them. I thought she was a fresh new voice at my much beloved Black Lace towers, and I wanted to tell her so. Because you should always tells someone so. Other authors aren't your competition. They're writers who make the world brighter by being in it.

So I told her stuff like that, and to my delight she didn't think I was a creeping creeper, and she told me she too was going to have a collection out with Black Lace, and from then on we became friends. We weathered Black Lace closing, together. We've had massive ups and huge downs. We walked the road to nowheresville side by side.

And we came out on the other end.

But none of that weathering is the reason why I'll write a post like this. I write it because I was a reader, first, when it came to Justine. And I'll never forget a writer who made Black Lace more awesome by writing for it, the same way I'll never forget Sarah Copeland and Juliet Hastings and Portia Da Costa and Janine Ashbless and Madelynne Ellis.

In the end, you should try The Business of Pleasure because erotica needs great voices like Justine Elyot. She's the best.

Amazon link, where you'll have a slight wait to get your mitts on it:

Xcite link, where you can get it now, now, now!

*Yes, I know, I know. The main character is called Charlotte. But she wrote it ages ago! It hasn't got anything to do with me, I swear. I swear, we don't snog on Wednesdays.

Monday, September 13, 2010

Mancandy Monday: Dat Ass

As I'm still fancying the living love God that is Sharlto Copley and all of his divine gloriousness, and can't work up the necessary effort to create a Mancandy Monday about a being who is not Sharlto Copley (he's ruined me for other men. Just ruined me), I thought I'd do a post that honours one of my favourite internet things:

Unf, dat ass. As in, you know. You see an ass and go UNF. Dat ASS.

So behold! The asses!

Yeah, this is Sharlto Copley's ass. It is a rare and beautiful sight, here presented in its natural habitat- a pair of almost see-through blue hospital pants. Of course, if he were not wearing said hospital pants, I'd be much happier. But we can't have everything, now, can we gentle Bertha.

Though I don't know why I'm calling you gentle. The reason Sharlto Copley has a restraining order against us is because you tried to take a bite out of that sweet, sweet candy. Goddamn you, Bertha, and your total lack of self-restraint! And love of candy!

Anyhoo, another ass!

This time it's Nathan Fillion's. I have been talking, of late, with the author KJ Reed, about the bounty that is Nathan Fillion's ass. Hopefully I'm going to be over at her blog on Tuesday, discussing my thoughts on it, as it features rather prominently in my drea- my novella, The Horizon. You know, the one that's still out now? Yeah, Quade has an apple butt because of the apple butt you see here, shining out at you like a glorious beacon of all that is good and right in the world.

Okay- more asses. Alexander Skarsgard's this time.

Now, I don't know what to think of this ass. It seems to have a deep, deep chasm between the buttocks, in a rather unsettling way. As though his ass is the surface of Mars, and the Valles Marineris lies right in the middle, just waiting to disgorge alien space vampires or some other such thing.

And yes, I realise that all of the above sounds like some sort of metaphor for pooing. Which I swear, it isn't. It's just...what's with the deep chasm, Alexander? Do you keep things in that mammoth groove, between your buttocks? A spare pencil, perhaps? What am I saying! You could keep a pencil case in that valley. You could keep me in there, nestled safely and happily in your butt crack.

And believe me, Alexander Skarsgard, I would be happy. Clenched by your muscular buttocks. Able to roam where I might, with my two free hands. Ah, bliss.

But enough of that insanity. Onto more crazy!

This time, it's Bradley Cooper's. Ass crack.

Yeah, I never said that this post wasn't going to also be kind of gross. But it's the right kind of gross, is it not? It is the sexy kind of gross, whereby you feel dirty and not right for wanting to lick that trapped butt crack, but can still comfortably revel in your own filthiness.

Though I have to say, I think that's how Bertha got into trouble, with Sharlto Copley. Call me crazy. Just a hunch. She should know that when a man bends down and accidentally shows butt crack, that is not a cue to poke your tongue where it's not wanted.

Bad Bertha.

Thursday, September 9, 2010

How To Go About Promo Without Feeling Too Dirty

Okay, so as you all probably know by now, tomorrow is the release day of my first actual real novella from Ellora’s Cave. I know, right? Me. An Ellora’s Cave author. But anyhow, marvelling over that fact is not the purpose of this blog post. Oh no no no.

You see, the fabulous and amazing authoress, Cara McKenna, also has a release tomorrow at the Cave. And because both she and I feel all funny about shoving ourselves forward and doing promo stuff, we came up with this stupendous plan.

I would promo her earth-shattering work on my blog, and she would promo mine on hers. Brilliant, eh?

Okay, so you don’t think it’s brilliant, Bertha. But just shut up, cos no-one cares what you think. Cara McKenna thinks it’s brilliant, and she’s like, a genius or summat. She writes erotic romances that are not only hot, and cool, and excellently written, but that also have an authenticity about them, a realness to the characters and their actions- no matter how wild the actions might be.

I can see why they do the things they do, and that’s a big thing for me. Sometimes I think some erotica and erotic romance writers think you can just have you characters do anything, and who cares about things like authenticity or motivation? But Cara cares, and that’s why I like her work.

Anyhoo, enough gushing. Or rather, not enough gushing, because now I’m going to read to you the ode I composed, in her honour:

Oohhh (there’s always an oohhh at the start of an ode. Shakespeare said) Cara!
How delightful you are
With your love of round birds.
As opposed to square birds,
Which I don’t think exist.
Or at least,
I hope they don’t. That would just be frightening.
But anyway where was I-
Oh yes. Cara!
With your watching of shows like Hoarders,
Which sounds to me like
A program about serial killers who keep people’s skins.
Or maybe that’s just
Because I’ve seen Silence of the Lambs recently.
I’m sure you would never watch
A program about serial killers who keep people’s skins.
I don’t know how I started
Talking about this.
Instead, let me talk about all the ways in which you
Are brilliant.
When I think of you,
I always think of you total acceptance
Of my man lusting ways.
And also of that picture you took.
Of you kind of eating your iPad.
Because you seem to me a mixture
Of dedication and brilliance
But also fabulous crazy.
And that’s the best sort of person.
The sort of person who
Writes utter brilliance
But doesn’t take themselves
Too seriously.
Don’t ever change, fabulous Cara.
Alan Rickman’s voice won’t love you,
If you do.

I know, I know. Masterpiece, the next Shakespeare, get Derek Jacobi on the horn to boom it out on the London stage etc etc. Just shut up, all right, I don’t even really know what an ode is! But I do know what an interview is, and since you’re probably wondering a little bit about this amazing brilliant writer who loves round birds and people’s skins, I did one with Cara! Check it out! She tells you stuff about her fabulous new release, and other things!

1. Okay, so first off I'm going to ask you the most vital question to be asked of anyone. No writer can live, without answering this deadly serious and completely normal question: Is Planet X going to crash into us in 2012?

I don't have the tinfoil hat scientific expertise to address that issue, but if Planet X does exist, it needs to bear in mind that the ancient Maya are scheduled to do the same thing, right around Christmastime. Unless they're like, in cahoots? I don't know the details, but Jessica Andersen does. Ask her. Read her books. Give her your first-born because she is hilarious.

2. Shut up (Ed: Why am I saying shut up so much? God I need to shut up). It's a serious question. Even more serious: If it is going to crash into us, what book do you want to write before we all die horribly, like from half the world breaking off and floating into space, or giant tidal waves forming a nuclear tidal wave so big it leaves no water on the ocean floor, or summat like that? If you don't believe this is going to happen, go to question three.

I'm going to assume that either Planet X or the Maya will destroy us in 2012, because I like to err on the side of caution. And before the world does asplode from planets or conquistadors or whathaveyou, I'd like to see two things published: my ridiculous yet-to-be-finished erotic novel The Ant Farm (that batshit battle royale Orwellian kidney stone with seven main characters you foolishly volunteered to beta read for me) and my favorite mainstream romance, Between Brothers. The latter is not, as its title might suggest, about incestuous male siblings. It's about a gal in a big romantic pickle with a pair of foxy Kiwis (Ed: All I can think of is Jemaine Clement and Rhys Darby. But then as you know, my man lusting wiring is all wrong). Grarrr. I love that book, and if I ever get around to starting my quest for an agent, I might even sell it.

3. Seriously, you don't believe in Planet X? That person totally saw it in Australia one time. It wasn't the moon, okay? It was Planet X. Roland Emmerich and Nicholas Cage made a film about it, I think. And then his kids went to Pandora only it was like Eden, IDEK. Is this a question? Not sure.

I don't like Nicholas Cage…except maybe in Moonstruck, because he played a punchy baker and his arms were all jacked and filthy and that was pretty sexy. Next question please.

4. So enough about Planet X. Let's talk, instead, about something equally important: bad eighties movies. Which do you prefer- My Demon Lover, Teen Witch, Adventures In Babysitting, or that one with Charlie Sheen in where he's haunted by a car or summat?

I don't like Charlie Sheen, either…can I chose E) None of the above? Can I write in an answer? Because I totally would NOT write in Tron. That movie so did not live up to my childhood memories. I'd write it in and then scribble it out and write Batteries Not Included in big fat marker on top of it (Ed: Yesssssss! Tho my favourite old people in the eighties movie is defo Cocoon).

5. How on earth have you not seen My Demon Lover? It's clearly the greatest movie of all time. No really, it is.

I know, I totally didn't…and I worked at a video store for four years. I have no excuses.

6. You like reality shows. I've never even heard of half the ones you like. Most of their titles make me think- I bet a reality show based on Cara's life would be more interesting than something called "Hoarders". Is that even real? Never mind. Tell me more about this fabulous new television show that I've just invented, The Cara McKenna Show:

Well, I'm the host and every week there's a new guest, like Alan Rickman, or a willow ptarmigan, or Julian Barratt with his clothes off, or like six button quails (because they're so small). I stick my face through a hole in a life-sized cardboard cut-out of Charlize Theron's body and ask my guests to tell me how it is I manage to be so awesome. Not sure if the face-hole is like, where her face should be, so somewhere totally unexpected. Tune in and find out!

7. So now you have your own TV show, and you're rich and famous and everyone loves you. Johnny Depp, George Clooney, and Brad Pitt all hit on you at the launch party for your new show "Why I Like Round Birds". Who do you take home? Also: details plz.

Hmmm… George's salt and peppery beard is tempting, but…

8. If you don't take any of them home because, quite frankly, they're all boring and not as handsome as Sharlto Copley, who do you take home, and why?

I would politely rebuff George and Brad and Johnny and attempt to seduce Survivorman host Les Stroud into my limo. He would gently (while sharpening a hunting knife or setting a snare) remind me that we're both happily married, and suggest we go on a platonic camping trip instead. I would accept, then figure out a way to push him into an arctic lake while we were hiking, assuming he'd have to get all naked while his clothes dried by the fire. I would emphatically endorse that strategy by citing any number of instances where this happened to Bear Grylls on Man vs. Wild, and then Les would get offended and leave me to die in the tundra.

9. If you say Sharlto Copley, I will end you. You knew I was launching my own show, Masterchefing While Dancing With The Stars! He would have loved me then, I hate you forever. How do you feel about that?

I would never attempt to steal Sharlto from you, not even by distracting you with a life-sized cardboard cut-out of Evan Lysacek, because as everyone knows, you are a fickle, fickle slut. Oh, sorry—I forgot you're English. Slag. A fickle, fickle slag. (Ed: I wish I could defend myself, here, but well. You all read my blog, right? New man every Monday. Me, slutting it up all over him. He feels degraded. I do not care).

10. As you can see, I'm extremely good at conducting interviews. I mean, no-one can come up with such brilliantly insightful and sensible questions as me. Some of my questions aren't even questions, because I'm post-modern or summat. But I've got to ask, if you could have been asked different and probably better questions, what would you have had me ask?

Well, I like talking about unshaven dudes fighting each other. Why not ask me, "Cara, which two unshaven dudes would you totally want to watch battle it out in 300-style monoschrome muscly slow-motion detail?"

11. Now answer the question you would have had me ask, were I an actually competent interviewer:

Ooh, good question, Charlotte…possibly the most insightful interview question I've ever been asked, considering this is my first interview (Ed: fanks. And this is your first interview? Can I make a popping your cherry joke?). I'd have to go with Vincent Regan (who's already in 300, how convenient) and the evil Slavic guy with the shaved head from Universal Soldier: Regeneration. Let me IMDb him…hang on…Andrei Arlovski. Yes, that'll do nicely, thank you.

12. If you could bonk any one of your characters, which one would you bonk, and why? Come on, don't be like Charlaine Harris, all "none, because they're not real". Of course they're not real! But isn't it fun imagining bonking them, in your head? If the answer to that is no, please don't tell me. I want to remain pure in my love for you.

Oh geez…the only character I've written who I could actually imagine myself dating is Colin, one of the two heroes from that romance I mentioned earlier—Between Brothers. But that's no fun, since no one except my faithful beta reader Amy has read it yet. Well, I wouldn't mind getting it on with Patrick from Ruin Me. I like me a desperately horny and morally conflicted working-class man of few words.

13. Finally, we'll do some sane things. Like: you have a super fabulous orsum book out. Of course it's super fabulous orsum, because it's you writing it. Everyone knows that. But I want people to hear it from the horse's mouth. Why is your book super fabulous orsum?

Do you feel as dirty as I do, getting down to the actual pimping? (Ed: You know I do, bb) But yes, Backwoods is out tomorrow, September 10. It's the pre-quel (yeah, stupid word, but accurate) to Shivaree—the story of how Shane and Gabriel's smoking-hot codependent whatevership began. Strictly male/male. Well, strictly unsuspecting-straight-guy-becomes-obsessively-infatuated-with-another-man. I absolutely love writing Shane's POV, and if anyone out there read Shivaree and enjoyed him as well and digs m/m (and digs Shane constantly dropping mf bombs), give it a try. Unless you like happy endings…if you've already read Shivaree you know Shane and Gabriel have a complicated thing going on, to say the least, and it's not all glitter and butterflies. Mostly it's sketchy power dynamics and filthy sex and hangovers. Poor Shane. But I promise he'll get his happy ending in the next six months, if Ellora's Cave buys Shivaree's sequel, which I'm fairly close to finishing.

14. Once people read this super fabulous orsum book, they're going to want to read more by you. They're salivating as we speak. Tell us a bit about your other books, and why they rule:

Well usually I'm Little Miss Prolific, but the only other story I've got coming out soon-ish is Dirty Thirty, [link: ] which I'm really rather proud of. It's coming out October 8 from Ellora's Cave. It's an m/m/f menage—emphasis on the m/m—about Evan and Margie, a young married punk couple, plus Evan's thirtieth birthday present—Paul. It's a short story, and actually quite sweet underneath all the filthy filthy sex. And for people who haven't read my stuff before, I had another book out last month called Willing Victim [link: ]. It's somewhat controversial, but so far reader response has been crazy-positive, so I'd recommend that one, if you aren't put off by its kink.

And that was the interview! Told you she was orsum. And here’s the link to her orsum new novella, Backwoods, to prove it:

But wait! There’s more. If you want to comment and say hi to Cara, or hi to me, or talk about your dog, Peter, you can totally do that. And then I’ll enter you into a competition to win a copy of Backwoods! How brilliant is that?

But there’s even more! If you do decide to enter, or you enter the competition on Cara’s blog to win a copy of my novella, The Horizon, here:

You will also be in with a chance of winning actual $5 Good Vibrations gift cards, courtesy of the lovely Cara McKenna, who thinks of doing things like that and then buys them to give away, unlike me, who doesn't and is a fool and then isn't sure how to pay my half for this deal, and offers to buy her a book cos she lives across the ocean and it seems weird to send three quid through Paypal. Not only that, but her post about me is orsum and contains hamsters, and she knew to put in all sorts of important info like twitter stuff. Which I've totally forgotten to do! You can find her on twitter, and she's hella funny and amazing so follow her immediatly!

Me and her are getting orsum at this pimping lark. Well, she is. I'm kind of sort of maybe. Possibly.

I'm not at all, am I.

ETA: The competition will close on Saturday, like Cara sez! Yeah, I'm really bad at this promo stuff.