NEW RELEASE: Backseat Fast Girls

BFG-31956 is the golden age of pretty young carhops, and Dotty is no exception. It’s her birthday, but she couldn’t have guessed just how swell a turn her special day would take when two dangerous-looking cats pull up in a souped-up hot rod. Dotty’s always been a nice girl. Will she really toss her reputation to go play back seat bingo with a couple of fast dykes who want to give her “one to grow on”?

EXCERPT:

“You ever had grass?” asked Sir, taking out a hand-rolled cigarette from an inside pocket and lighting it up. I hadn’t, but I wasn’t about to look like a wet rag in front of these two.

“Sure,” I said breezily, accepting it and taking a drag. I coughed, but it wasn’t too bad. I even liked the taste of it; sort of earthy and pungent. The act of smoking it with them made me feel like the bees’ knees.

I could feel where her fingers had brushed mine when she handed over the cigarette, and I was suddenly aware of Miss Liz’s thigh pressed up against mine. I shifted a little, breaking contact, but she moved it right back. When she took a drag, her lipstick left an imprint on top of the one I’d made, and the sight of it made me feel a little giddy. She saw me looking and smiled slowly.

“You know what I thought when I first saw you?” she asked.

“No,” I replied hesitantly, embarrassed. I couldn’t help remembering my earlier dopiness. “What?”

“How much I’d like to kiss those pretty lips of yours.” Her hand drifted up to rest under my chin. “Would you mind very much?” I stared at her, wide-eyed. Just a few hours ago I might have recoiled, but gosh, was she pretty. I had more than half a mind to actually let her do it.

“You— you wouldn’t tell anybody, wouldja? I mean—” She laughed a little, shaking her head, and pressed a finger to my lips.

“We won’t tell, pinky swear.” She came in slowly, and I could smell her perfume: musk and powder and elegance. Maybe Chanel no. 5, I thought distantly, the instant before her soft lips met mine.

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New Release: Butt Slut Boyfriend

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Nikki’s a lesbian, but she can’t help the lingering sexual tension she still feels for her ex-boyfriend, Mike. They hang out one night as friends, but things soon grow heated. She’s missed what he does with his tongue, and he’s missed what she does with her strap-on. Is hooking up with an ex really always such a terrible idea? Sometimes, it’s just what both parties desperately need.

EXCERPT:

The embrace lingers just a beat too long, and I can feel my pulse in my fingertips. I hope it’s dark enough so that he can’t see me blush, but he sees something in my face and smiles. To my relief, Mike doesn’t comment. I can practically hear his thoughts, though. I still think you’re amazingly sexy, his eyes say. If you want me, I’m yours.

I laugh nervously, trying to ease the tension. “Um— are you okay to drive?” He waggles his hand in a “comme ci comme ça” gesture and shrugs. “Well, you should definitely wait a while to leave, then. Wanna watch a movie?”

“‘Kay.”

I dig in my bag for my keys, and a warm breeze gusts suddenly. Again I pick up his scent: a mixture of clean male, sandalwood, and a hint of earthy weed smoke. I want to drink him in. I bite my lip, trying in vain to ignore my rebellious body while I slide the key into the lock. The door jerks open and I let him in after me. I start up the carpeted stairs to my third-floor walk-up. Suddenly a little self-conscious, I glance over my shoulder to find him checking out my ass. “Mike! You’re looking up my skirt, I totally caught you!”

“Duh, your butt’s in my face, your skirt is short, and I can see right up it. Hell yeah, I’m gonna look!” I try to keep a stern face, but I can’t help but laugh.

“You think you get a free show just because you bought the last round? You’re gonna have to pay for that.” He only grins up at me, obviously unrepentant. But the beer-and-weed combo is making me feel reckless and daring. I stare down at him, considering. Fuck it, I think. Two can play at this, and I mean to win. “Fine, then.” I yank the hem of my skirt up around my hips and hook the back leg of my panties with one thumb, pulling the thin cotton to the side. “Lick my ass, and you’d better do it good. By the way— from now on, you’re my little slut, and you’re gonna worship my whole body all night long.”

He hasn’t heard me talk like this in years. His eyes widen, and I see him instantly fall hard into subspace. I’d forgotten how much that shy, submissive look he gets turns me on. I stick my ass out at him and spread my legs. “Bitch, you’d better hurry, before my offer expires.”

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New Release: 3 Girls 1 Pole

It’s been way too long! Welp, that’s what happens when you work on 15 different things at the same time in order to avoid becoming bored with anything. So I’m very pleased to announce the release of my latest erotica short, 3 Girls 1 Pole. Yes, the title makes me laugh too — that’s why I named it that. 😉

It was inspired by several things: my own fantasies, my experiences both with pole dance fitness and my years as an exotic dancer, and even a bit from my own life. I won’t tell you which of the three women I identified most with, though. A girl’s gotta leave some mystery for her fans!

I was really happy to find this stock photo for my cover, too. 3 Girls 1 Pole is publishing live at Smashwords, Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, and Rainbow eBooks. Links will be updated as they go live. Please enjoy, and don’t forget to leave a review! It really does help the indie authors out very much! ❤

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Blurb:

Jayna and her partner Ava, a stripper and pole instructor, recently bought a house. They’ve just installed a pole so Ava can give lessons, and they invite their hot friend Emily over to break it in. What kinds of kinky fun have the lesbian couple dreamed up for their sexually frustrated BFF, and how will Emily react when she’s cornered and seduced by the two women she’s been crushing on for ages?

Sexually explicit content. All characters are 18+.

Excerpt:

“Your splits are perfect, Jayna,” I said, envious. “I wish I could do splits like you. I try and try, but they don’t seem to ever get much better. Hell, I’d be happy just to have a woman do splits for me.” I paused, considering. “Preferably on my face, though.”

Instead of the giggles I expected, Jayna’s face grew calculating. “Oh yeah? What would you do then?”
I could feel my face growing hot, but the wine made me bold. “What do you think? Eat her pussy like there’s no tomorrow. What the hell would you do?”

“I know what I’d do,” Ava said. “Dare you to prove it, right here, right now.” I could only stare at her, astonished. “I’m serious. Jay and I have been fantasizing about a threesome for a long time.” She paused, eyes gleaming. I couldn’t look away. “Maybe even about you, once or twice… So are you in or what?” I couldn’t make my voice work, and swallowed hard before finally nodding. Ava grinned wickedly and grabbed me around the waist. “Well then,” she whispered huskily into my ear. “I hope you have a lot of stamina, because we’re going to test this ‘like no tomorrow’ theory of yours.” I realized I’d been holding my breath, and a little high-pitched moan escaped me as I exhaled. “But it wouldn’t be right to dive into the main course without some appetizers first, huh?” She let me go and led me back to the couch where Jayna was sitting. “You’ve never come to the club with me, so I guess I’ll have to bring the club to you.”

I had never had a lapdance, of course, so I had no idea what to expect beyond what I’d gleaned from movies — so when she peeled off her top and shorts, leaving her in just a little silver g-string, I’m pretty sure my heart skipped a beat or three. Ava pushed me down onto the cushy sofa, and I found myself sitting practically on Jayna’s lap, though her thighs were parted to let my ass brush the crotch of her tiny shorts. I could feel the soft mounds of her breasts pressed against my shoulder blades, and the heat of her breath on the back of my neck. Her hands snaked around me, one pulling my knee wider open, and the other caressing the underside of my left breast.

***

P.S. In other news, the main Hollaback site gave my article a shoutout on their weekly update! Score!

Going Viral…

I posted my article, “Why I Am a Feminist (or, Applied Examples of the Prevalence of Rape Culture)” on Facebook two days ago and it has BLOWN. UP. Over 9,000 views in less than 48 hours! Woot! Not to mention, the discourse it has caused in the comments has really made me happy. My deepest thanks to everyone’s interest, shares, and comments.

Philly Gay Calendar saw it and wanted me to publish it on their site, which is exciting and encouraging. Please go over there, and show it some love!

In other news, I’ve been working on outlining my novel which I started for NaNoWriMo in November. I think I was way too disorganized and didn’t really have a battle plan, and so I got discouraged and put it aside for a while. It was constantly in the back of my mind though, poking at me, wanting to be born, and I knew I had to figure out just how to go about this novel writing business!

I got a piece of software called Snowflake Pro and it is actually making a HUGE difference to my planning and workflow. In fact, what I originally thought was going to be a single novel is looking like an epic trilogy at this point, and I have the first well underway when it comes to outline and characters.

I’m tentatively looking at a length of 110,000-140,000 words. A good deal of what I wrote in November needs reworking, and I’m planning on writing 32,000 words next month for Camp NaNoWriMo. However, I am moving to a different part of Philly this week, so I hope I have time for everything. Anyway, it’s tentatively called Heart of Ice, first in the Aeternitas: Goddess of Time trilogy. Those titles may well change, but I’m happy with them for now.

Why I Am a Feminist (or, Applied Examples of the Prevalence of Rape Culture)

Here’s a true story. Last night, I was hanging out at a pretty chill bar, having some beers and just having a nice time. Three guys and a girl came in and sat near me. They seemed to be about college age, and I paid them little mind. One guy seemed to take notice of me, came over and started talking to me. I already had a good feeling where this was going, believe me.

“Who are you here with?”

“Myself.”

“Ohh!” he grinned smugly and reached a friendly arm around my shoulders. I stiffened, but attempting subtlety with this guy was like playing a Mozart concerto for a warthog. He continued to have a distinct lack of regard for personal space during this entire encounter. I pulled away, and kept having to, again and again, as he pressed his body “casually” against my side.

I had been talking to the bartender about how I’m moving to a different part of the city. The guy next to me started saying, don’t move, I’ll cry, we should hang out, we should get married, hahaha. You know, in that joking-but-not-really sort of way. I said no, I don’t think my girlfriend would like that.

He stared at me in disbelief.

“I’m gay.”

“Are you really?” he seemed dubious. You know, just because I don’t fit whatever the damn stereotype of a lesbian is, doesn’t mean this shit doesn’t piss me off after a while. But I was amiable enough still, even at that point.

“Yes, really.”

Then came the questions, the utterly unoriginal and predictable questions…

“Hypothetically, if you were straight, would you find me attractive?”

“Hypothetically, if you were gay, would you find your friend attractive?”

He guffawed and made a joke of it. I settled for telling him there is no hypothetical, because I’m not straight. He was good looking enough for sure, but he was also smugly self-assured to the point of intolerable cockiness, and that is SO unattractive in anyone, regardless of sex.

“How do you know you’re gay? Are you sure?”

“How do you know you’re straight?” I retorted. Another offhand joke.

“So you’ve never dated a guy?” I didn’t find this worthy of answering. And so on and so forth.

I shot him down, again and again. Apparently, though, “you’re so pretty” is a valid excuse to ignore increasingly not-so-subtle hints to go away. Because, apparently, pretty women NEED to be convinced, cajoled, and outfoxed despite what they may have to say in the matter. Too bad for him, it’s a rare person who can run any sort of intellectual circles around me.

“So can you give me tips on how to make girls like me?” I wasn’t sure whether this was some kind of facetious reverse psychology, though now, looking back, I really don’t think he was clever enough for that. I just sort of rolled my eyes in answer.

There were plenty more questions, liberally interspersed with complaints that I was mean, an asshole, and that I should be nicer to him. I pointed out dryly that no one forced him to come over to me, and that despite my “meanness” he was still glued to my side. Yet another hint for him to go away, and it was laughed off: “Yeah, well you’re pretty.”

I was there first, though, and other than him, had been enjoying my night, so I didn’t feel like I should be the one to have to move. Hey, I’m stubborn like that. He was annoying, but somewhat tolerable in a “look at this dumb asshat” kind of way. Until.

“Have you ever kissed a guy?”

I didn’t answer. It’s none of his business. (Yes, but I wasn’t about to encourage him. I know more than well enough from experience.)

“So,” he pushed, “would you like to try?” I’d had enough.

“You’re disgusting and rude. Get the fuck away from me.”

He tried to play it off as a joke; then, seeing that I was having none of it, turned to one of his friends and called me a “feminist” in a decidedly mocking tone. I tartly informed the lot of them that “feminist is not a pejorative, and neither is gay, for that matter.”

Blank stares. They didn’t know what “pejorative” means — big surprise — and I had to explain… yeah.

Then another guy in his group joined in on ganging up on me, saying condescending things, and I was really starting to get mad. Meanwhile, Douchebag #1 was making little comments about what an asshole I am, and that I didn’t need to be so “mean” to him and his friends.

Throughout this, their female friend meekly tried once or twice to tell them to leave me alone, with little to no effect. They ignored her, and the three guys kept up the hateful diatribe. The kicker was when Douchebag #1 called me “this feminist idiot.”

REALLY??

“Get the fuck away from me before I punch you.”

“I’ll call the cops on you if you touch me.”

“Oh, so a big man like you can’t handle a little ‘feminist idiot’ like me?”

He kept making little comments to his friends, just loud enough for me to hear. It was clearly a case of sour grapes, and I would have laughed if I hadn’t been so angry.

“No wonder straight girls don’t like you. It’s because you’re an insufferable douchebag.”

“Oh, I can get all the girls I want, it’s easy.” I raised an eyebrow, remembering the query for help with said girls not too much earlier.

“Ha, is that so? Why are you bothering me then? Go find one of them and leave me the fuck alone. You’re disgusting.”

He got pretty huffy at this. “Me, disgusting? You’re disgusting.” This from the charmer who was trying to make out with me ten minutes before. Sour grapes, indeed. I was fed up, and turned to the bartender.

“Get these fucking misogynist assholes away from me, please.” Thankfully, the bartender had my back at last and told them to get out. Douchebags numbers 1 and 2 went outside, along with their mouse of a female friend. Finding himself left alone, the third guy came up to me, vaingloriously trying to defend his comrades-in-misogyny.

“They’re not usually like that, they’re just drunk, you don’t have to be mean. Don’t take it out on me, I wasn’t saying anything. But I guess you’re in hostility mode now. But don’t be mad, they’re good guys.” I really had no patience for him and his lame apologies for his disgusting friends, and I told him as much.

“Maybe you should get better friends who aren’t assholes, drunk or sober. Ever heard of guilt by association?” He wouldn’t leave me alone, though, and bugged me for several minutes until I deigned to placate him with an offhand comment just to shut him up. Still, he kept at it until I flat out told him to go away and leave me alone. He didn’t like it, but at last he left.

There are more details I’ve left out, and choice epithets I was called, but I don’t really feel like typing out the whole play-by-play. Needless to say, this is probably the worst treatment I’ve had as a gay woman in Philadelphia in a long time.

After they left, I broke down crying. The bartender was very apologetic, saying nothing like that has happened there before, and that those particular people are regulars. Ironically, he told me, the owner is a gay man and he’s never had any trouble with them. Bitterly, I pointed out that the owner is not an attractive woman whom frat boys would just love to talk into bed in order to show her what a “real man” is. The bartender was nice enough, but I really think it was a case of too little, too late. I have to wonder if that is because they were, in fact, regulars. And I’m upset that this fact made a difference.

He walked me out, effusively apologizing, telling me that he hoped I wouldn’t pass judgment on the bar due to a few unruly patrons. He stayed with me as I unlocked my bike, looking worried. As I pedaled briskly home, I had to keep fighting back tears. Later, it was a long time before I could get to sleep, playing the whole scene back in my mind, seething with rage. It made my stomach turn. To be honest, it still does.

If there is any question in your mind that we are living in a rape culture, a culture in which young men think they can say and do anything to a woman in pursuit of sex, just because he finds her attractive, regardless of whether or not she is interested, and feels perfectly justified — nay, entitled — in hurling verbal (or physical, or sexual) abuse at her when rebuffed, simply because his pride and ego have been hurt, think again.

This is rape culture. This is why Steubenville and a million other similar and unreported cases happen. This is why the media has such crocodile-tear sympathy for the high school rapists for their lost scholarships and “ruined lives,” and not a word of concern for the victim, whose life is the one which is truly ruined.

This is what women and girls put up with, all the time, gay or straight; and by lieu of lifetime exposure, are led to believe that it is normal and right. This is what boys are taught is their due and their right. She was asking for it, she was drunk, she was pretty, she was dressed “like a slut,” she was alone, ad nauseam. Nor does it end at women — gay boys and men, as well as trans* people suffer parallel, if not completely similar, fates.

The worst part is that I feel guilty that I should be “thankful” that it didn’t end up far more tragic, far more dangerous, far more lethal. And that may be the most enraging piece of this whole scenario.

I am thoroughly disgusted. Rape culture must end, and it is everyone’s responsibility. Let’s start a revolution.

Under the Covers with Lula Lisbon

So the lovely Ms. Carla Croft reviewed my popular Lesbian BDSM bundle a while ago, and she has graciously invited me back for an interview. Please go do check it out!

And speaking of covers, here is a cover reveal for what I’m finishing up in the next few days… Cinderella: A BDSM Retelling.

Cinderella is in the House of Mistresses Arabelle and Druscilla Ravyn, ostensibly as an apprentice to train as a Domme. The Ravyn twins, however, have little interest in letting their hardworking apprentice gain much knowledge, as she is far more useful as their house slave.

When the famous rock star, Kink-Bottom Prince, announces that he’s looking for a new live-in Mistress, the whole city is ecstatic. All the Mistresses of the best Houses have been invited to his exclusive play party, and all are hoping to catch his eye and win his service. After a particularly cruel beating for perceived pertness, Cinderella is distraught and hopeless that she will ever become a Domme herself.

But the sudden appearance of her very own magical Fairy Kink Mother is about to change all that, and she has just the vision to help Cinderella win the heart and collar of Kink-Bottom Prince himself!

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I’m getting the feeling people are enjoying my random photos and stuff so I’m probably going to be doing more of that. And I’m super excited about this so I’m going to share. A few months ago I got the Red Carpet Manicure Pro Gel Nail Kit, and I’m absolutely in love with it. Although I’m femme-identified, I don’t have the damn patience to be spending hours and hours a week on my appearance. If I can keep things fairly low maintenance, I’m a happy girl.

Over the summer I was seeing this woman and I was pretty upset when we broke up. What can I do to cheer myself up, I wondered. Believe it or not, I’d never had a pro mani/pedi before, but I don’t believe in paying all that money for something that might last a week, tops. I’d heard of gel nails and had been dying to try that, so I got it and was instantly a convert. I buckled down and bought a home kit, which is just as awesome as the salon version. In two manicures it’s already paid for itself as compared to salon visits… and I do my toes too, which they don’t do in the salon.

Let me just mention I’m not getting paid to talk about this kit, I just absolutely love it! This is the third mani/pedi I’ve done with it, and the results last an average of three weeks and they stay gorgeous and fresh looking the whole time. Talk about low maintenance heaven. So I’ve got a date with a special lady this weekend, and I wanted to try something cool and special, and a bit festive. I decided on an ombre fade effect in RCM Glitz and Glamourous, which is that gorgeous ruby color, topped by a thin coat of RCM Dressed For Success, which is a special effect glitter which looks different depending on what you put it on top of. Isn’t it gorgeous? Took me almost 3 hours to do this, but the results are worth it, and best of all, it’ll look this great for weeks. I’m in love. It was hard to get the photos well lit, but this is in natural sunlight. Doing my toes later today.

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Ramblings and November Wrap-Up

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So November has been a busy month. I haven’t gotten much knitting in lately — yeah, bet you didn’t know that I’m a knitter, yes I like to get my grandma on whilst listening to either audiobooks or some really evil death metal (seriously). I love metal, and knitting to metal. I enjoy the juxtaposition. Anyway, this is the start of a hat pattern from Knitty. It’s a pretty self-striping 70% merino, 30% soysilk that I bought a few years back for some legwarmers and had a bit left over.

Anyway, regarding NaNoWriMo… welp, I’m not a winner (i.e. 50k words in a month), but I’m actually okay with that. By the end of today I’ll have 20k of quality work, with an estimated 70k or so to go. It’s been slow going with the simultaneous research, and life… well, by NaNo standards I suppose. I don’t consider 20k in a month all too shabby, since I’m pretty sure this is the most I’ve written in a month to date — and that’s not counting the other shorts I was working on as well.

I’ve made a personal resolution to write 1500 words every day. No less, but more if I feel like it. That’s 10,500 a week, 42k a month. If I can keep it up, that’s pretty good, and quite doable. That’s doable. I have two three more novel ideas gestating in my brain, so I think 2013 will be a busy year. I just have to come up with a suitable reward system for myself. Maybe more masturbation? Dinner? In that order? I don’t know.

So I’m going to NYC next weekend because I have a new ladyfriend-type-person, and I may or may not be getting laid, a lot. Hint: it’s the former. Sorry to rub it in. Actually, not really. Soooo, between bouts of marathon lesbian sex, I’ll be checking out a couple museums, one of which being the Museum of Sex. I’ve actually not been there before, and I’m quite looking forward to it. Rest assured I’ll be taking lots of pictures and posting them here, Dear Reader. Unfortunately (for you), there will be no (public) pictures of the marathon sex. I kid, I kid. There will be mental pictures, emerging in future writings, and you will be reaping the benefits in an indirect way. I can’t help you with your real life sex drought, though, I’m afraid.

In other news, my cat has been sick, and let me tell you, nothing quite puts you in the mood to write smut than wrapping up a cat who knows what’s coming in a blanket like a vengeful burrito and forcing antibiotics in pill form down his maw, then holding his mouth shut to make sure he swallows instead of spitting it out like a college freshman at her first frat party. Is that inappropriate? Oh well. He’s fixed, so it’s okay. I know what I’m doing, trust me.

The burrito is so he doesn't scratch the hell out of me while I give him a pill. I'm not hurting him, except for his pride, I promise.

The burrito is so he doesn’t scratch the hell out of me while I give him a pill. I’m not hurting him, except for his pride, I promise.

Edit: I couldn’t resist. May the gods forgive me.

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