May 17: International Day Against Homophobia Blog Hop

It’s taken me a long time to get to this point: self-love, self-acceptance, and the ability to be open about who I know myself to be inside. I have Philadelphia to thank for being the setting against which I finally felt free and comfortable enough to be able to come out, both to myself and the people in my life at the age of 28 — three years ago. I’d suffered for a long time before that, wondering why I was miserable, hating life, always angry. But my conflict had mostly been internal; I can only imagine how much harder it is when you have to fight the world at the same time as yourself. Coming out isn’t easy, but as Anais Nin wrote, “And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.” 

It breaks my heart that so many people across the world still have to hide who they are, simply because of who they love. In my writing, I always try to portray my characters as real, emotional, and beautifully flawed, and as people who have a genuine connection with their partner. In my own way, I am fighting against homophobia not only through my everyday life and who I am as a person, but how gay people are portrayed in popular media — in love and sexuality as well as emotion.

It’s a wonderful thing that the International Day Against Homophobia exists. It’s a dear wish that one day, we may all be free to live the lives we ache for, and to love and marry whomever we wish.

In honor of this Hop, I’m offering up as contest prizes three copies of my ebook, Pumping Teen Iron Cock #1. To read an excerpt, click here.

Blurb: Former nerd Drew is now a buff 19-year-old college athlete who has a huge crush on sexy jacked Gabriel, university coach and trainer. What he doesn’t know is that Gabriel’s been watching the tight teen’s physical progress with interest, and the older man plans a steamy seduction after the lunchtime gym rush is gone! Shy virgin Drew quickly discovers that there’s more than just heat in the sauna! First in the popular “Pumping His Iron Cock” series!

To enter, simply respond with a comment to this post, or in response to the following questions. Please include your email, and although it is not mandatory, I’d very much appreciate if you clicked “Follow” on this blog.

Questions for thought: Has homophobia affected you, directly or indirectly, and how? What have you done personally to be an ambassador for acceptance? How do you envision the worldview to have changed or stayed the same 20 years in the future?

You must be at least 18 to enter this contest, as the book contains graphic sexual content (well, it’s erotica, so I’d hope so, right?). Other blog hop participants are welcome to enter. Winners may choose any of the following formats: .pdf, .epub, .mobi, .lit, .htm. Three winners will be chosen at random from the comments to this post on or after May 21st.

Guest Blogger Andrea Dale: “The Harder She Comes: Butch Femme Erotica” Blog Tour

I’m fascinated by women who seem put-together, especially when it comes to outfits. “Layering” is like a foreign concept to me. If I’ve remembered to put on a shirt and pants or a skirt and shoes, it’s a good day. Since I work at home, this doesn’t always happen…or I have to change to leave the house, because I’ve neglected a bra and I’m wearing my Halloween bat pajama pants—and it’s the middle of summer.

All that said, I wouldn’t really call myself a butch, either. My clothing choices stem largely from a combination of a disinterest in fashion and sheer laziness. (However, I do historic re-creation, so if it’s pre-1600s fashion you want to talk about, I’ll be right there!) Like Teddie, the protagonist in my story “Winner Take All,” I’m simply more likely to make choices based on comfort than anything else, bonus if it involves my favorite color, purple. If I want to dress up and go the whole makeup route, I do, and I enjoy looking pretty—but I really don’t know what the hell I’m doing, and never, like Teddie, feel like I’ve actually created an “outfit.”

Which is why, like Teddie, I’m fascinated….

On my other side, a pretty, petite blonde. For the life of me, I couldn’t imagine why she’d want or need a truck. She didn’t look the type to step foot in a truck. She was wearing painted-on jeans—probably designer, but I wouldn’t know designer jeans if they were cupping my own ass—and low-heeled grey boots. Her makeup was impeccable, her big blue eyes made wider by the judicious use of mascara and her luscious lips glossed a lickable red. I suspected she didn’t usually wear jeans; she looked like the type to wear little skirts and high heels.

Nothing wrong with that, if that was your thing. I certainly enjoyed looking at pretty women in little skirts and high heels, and fantasizing about getting up under those little skirts and seeing what kind of panties—if at all—they were wearing.

I’m not a skirt-wearing type of girl myself, and today was no exception. I’d dressed for comfort: jeans, sure, but broken-in, soft ones that wouldn’t constrict movement; sneakers with gel insoles for extra support; and a t-shirt advertising my nonprofit.

“What’s the Kensington Bird Sanctuary?” the blonde asked maybe ten minutes after we’d gotten started. She had a light, breathy voice, which suited her. Her dangly silver earrings caught in the light as she cocked her head at me.

“It’s a rehab facility for birds of prey,” I said. “I’m the manager. We could really use this truck to transport injured raptors to our facility.”

Her laugh tinkled. “Oh, see, that’s not fair,” she protested with a little pout. “You’re trying to get me to sympathize with you, and lose.”

I shook my head. “Not at all,” I said, and it was true. She’d asked, after all. “I just automatically try to drum up support. It’s the curse of running a non-profit.”

“All right, then.” She favored me with a dazzling smile, even white teeth and juicy lips. “I’m Grace, by the way.”

“Teddie,” I said, waving my free hand.

“Nice to meet you,” she said. “Very nice to meet you.” Her voice went a little lower then, and I swear I saw her look me up and down and up again. She delicately bit her lip.

Was she flirting with me? Really? I couldn’t imagine it, but it still gave me a little tingle. I cleared my throat. “Ditto.”

So what is this sexy blonde doing at a competition to win a truck? Is she into the deliciously naughty things Teddie wants to have done to her? Will Teddie win the truck that her bird sanctuary so desperately needs…and will she get the kinky release she so desperately needs?

You’ll just have to read the story to find out….

You can find “Winner Take All” in The Harder She Comes: Butch/Femme Erotica.

For more of Andrea Dale’s stories, see or

Want to read more juicy excerpts from the anthology? Here’s the full blog tour schedule!

May 1 D. L. King
May 2 Anna Watson
May 3 Evan Mora
May 4 River Light
May 5 Sinclair Sexsmith
May 6 Crystal Barela
May 7 CS Clark
May 8 Valerie Clark Sassafras Lowrey
May 9 Andrea Dale
May 10 Beth Wylde
May 11 Kathleen Bradean
May 12 Teresa Noelle Roberts
May 13 Shanna Germain
May 14 Charlotte Dare
May 15 Rachel Kramer Bussel

Get your copy of The Harder She Comes: Butch Femme Erotica anywhere good books are sold. To make it easier, you can get it from Amazon or directly from Cleis Press.

Excerpt: “A Love Transcending”

A Love Transcending

A Love Transcending


Diana’s had a crush on her best friend James, a trans man, ever since she met first him a year ago. Recently, he’s been appearing in her dreams, and she’s discovering that her heart is longing for his embrace and his love. Can she gather up the courage to tell him how she feels on a private picnic in the woods? Is he ready to accept the tender love that he’s been hiding from her for so long?

This 4,831-word sweet erotic romance contains sexually explicit scenes, but treats the trans experience with loving respect.


I watched a pair of birds circling each other, and I wondered if it was a mating dance. I leaned back on my elbows, the April sunshine warm and sweet on my face through the glowing leaves above. Far below, a silver snake of river flowed, and if I listened hard, I could almost hear the water. The breeze rustled the leaves, and I felt myself drifting.

“Diana–” I jumped at his voice, and turned around quickly. He stood there, a strange little smile on his face, his eyes shy. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. I found these for you – I mean, I want to make you something before we eat.” James held a large bouquet of pink and lilac flowers, which looked like violets, though I wasn’t sure. He gracefully sank into a cross-legged seat on the blanket and began to plait the thin, flexible stems together. As he worked, I fixed our plates.

“What are you making?” The chain of plaited flowers grew, but he only looked at me with that strange little smile. The leaves above gave us a cool, dappled shade, but there was a heat in his eyes that was almost too much for me to hope for. Overwhelmed, I kept my eyes on my hands, toying with a plastic cup of sparkling water that I remembered to sip from occasionally. When I’d gathered the nerve to look again, the rope of violets had become a circlet.

“I’ve always thought that you should wear a crown,” James said softly as he laid it on my hair. The breeze picked up just then, blowing shimmering strands into my face. He brushed them gently aside, fingertips grazing my cheek, the corner of my lips. I opened my mouth to speak, to thank him, to say something, anything, but he looked away and I lost my nerve.  My cheeks felt hot, and all I could do was silently hand him a plate. I nibbled a piece of Brie before taking a strawberry and dipping it in whipped cream. I still couldn’t look at him, but I felt his eyes on me as I bit into it, the tartness of its red juice mingling with the sweet, thick cream over my tongue.

“Look at me,” his tenor voice broke the silence. I felt his warm fingers on my chin as he turned my face towards him. I felt a little dizzy as he wiped away a bit of whipped cream from my lower lip with the pad of his thumb, and he seemed to hesitate the tiniest bit before licking his thumb clean. I couldn’t help the little whimper that escaped me – I wanted his tongue on me, his lips on me, his strong arms around me. He studied me then, raising an eyebrow.

“Diana,” he started. My tongue darted out, finding the place where his thumb had been, imagining that I tasted the salt of his skin mixed with the sweet of the cream. His eyes followed the sweep of my tongue, and he closed his eyes briefly. He turned his face away. “I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want to ruin what we have. I— I can’t lose you.”

My hand, almost of its own accord, drifted up and stroked his short, dark hair. The backs of my fingers brushed his cheeks, feeling where he’d just shaved, brushing the sideburns that accented the handsome lines of his face. He leaned into my touch like a cat, and I turned his face back to my own with two gentle fingers. Our eyes met, and I held his face in my hands, his sweet face that had appeared in my dreams night after night.

I opened my mouth to speak, but found that I couldn’t. The look on his face, eager, yet frightened, stabbed my heart, and without warning tears spilled down my cheeks. One dripped off my chin, and I could feel it running down the smooth curve of my right breast. James wrapped his arms around me and pulled me into his lap, his lips kissing the wet trails away.  My hands snaked around his slim waist and I locked my fingers together behind his back, silently begging him not to let me go. He rained kisses on my cheeks, my eyelids, my jaw, but studiously avoided my mouth. The knowledge made me cry more, that he loved me enough to keep me at arm’s length, all for fear of losing me.

(c) Lula Lisbon 2012. All rights reserved.

A Love Transcending is available at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Smashwords, and other online distributors.