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Posts tagged ‘erotica’

C is for Cowboys

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAWhat is it about a cowboy that makes my knees melt? You’d think that I would’ve gotten over the lure of the mysterious cowboy after marrying and divorcing a bull rider, but nope. I still dissolve into a puddle at the sight of a strapping man in a Stetson.

There’s more to a cowboy than the hat and boots. It’s a philosophy, a oneness with nature and the land, an appreciation for the beauty of God’s creation.  It’s hard to describe the cowboy mystique. Rode hard and put up wet? Diamond in the rough? The fact that they stay in the saddle a little bit longer?

I have no idea what the allure is, but it’s strong, almost primeval. I’m not the only one with such an attraction. Check out the scores of erotica written about cowboys.

I’ve had enough cowboy-themed fantasies to fill volumes of erotica novels and yet I’ve never written one. I’m not sure why. I think I want to keep my cowboy to myself. He’s strong, sturdy, deeply scarred and full of compassion. He’s a gentleman–the type of guy you’d introduce to your mother.  He understands me and comforts me in times of need. He pleasures me like no other. In the dark secrecy of a moonlit field, he shares his thoughts and dreams with me, and only me. I don’t want to ruin the fantasy by describing his lovemaking skills in a book for all to read.

He’s my cowboy. One day, I’ll create an erotic cowboy for the masses, but I’m keeping this one for myself.



Inteviewed by Rachel Leigh

???????????????????????????????The lovely and talented Rachel Leigh has interviewed yours truly for her blog. Find out more about me and my latest release Tokyo Tease.

Passion in the Orient…

All-American girl next door, Natalie, jumped at the chance to see the world when offered a job in exotic Japan. Reality, however, proves much harsher than her many dreams…until her co-worker–and the star of her every fantasy–turns up the heat. Kentaro steps behind her on their morning commute, turning the crowded train ride into a journey of sensuality. With every sway and turn, the sexy Asian god’s touch tortures and teases, arousing her with the speed of the bullet train. But this is only the beginning. Kentaro unlocks a world of exotic pleasures surpassing Natalie’s dreams.

Rachel is a fellow The Wild Rose Press author and writes, steamy erotica.  Her latest release is Teach Me to Ride. 


Rachel LeighCaroline James wants to be the best investigative journalist London has ever seen. But until she has the money to leave the small town of Fayre Mead, she’s stuck and her resentment is building. So when she’s assigned to cover the Lakeland Horse Trials and meets sexy, dark-haired, and astoundingly fit horse trainer, Michael Canton, she is happy to vent some sexual and emotional frustration…and write the story of her career. But after getting personal with Michael, can she remain impersonal with the article?

Michael Canton will do anything in his power to silence his tyrannical father once and for all. Under extreme pressure to compete in the country’s show jumper trials and prove his worth, Michael’s fiery emotions are running high. Caroline’s beauty and sexual confidence stokes an inner strength and determination he never knew he had. But can he trust her to know the difference between fact and fiction? Together, they are a formidable team…but will their burning ambitions ultimately blow them apart?

Sounds good, right? So drop by Rachel’s blog and you’ll get two, hot seductive erotic romances!


quicksandDo you know what it feels like to stand in the middle of quicksand and have no idea how to get out? You can feel yourself being pulled under and have no control over the situation. The more you move, the quicker your sink, but doing nothing is against your nature. You HAVE to do something!  You can’t just stand there and be sucked into the bowels of the earth, right?  You’re overridden with despair, agony, regret. Where’s Mr. Darcy when you need him?

So, I’m not literally sinking in quicksand, but life circumstances have made a head dive straight into a pit of said substance sound appealing. How do things get so out of control? How do I let myself become so overwhelmed by issues that I don’t even care about? I know what I want. I want to make a living as a writer. I know what that entails, writing, promoting, blogging, promoting and definitely more promoting. What am I doing? Herding goats, managing a rabbitry and slopping hogs.

Recently, in the most ironic of situations, I busted my kneecap while doctoring our goat herd sire, Alonzo’s, busted kneecap. Yeah, I know, I should find the humor in it, but sitting on the couch with my leg in a brace is driving me nuts. Guilt overcomes me every evening when my 76 year old mother tends to all the farm critters. Work that I can do in three hours takes her at least six. What do I do? I try to help and end up doing further damage to my knee. alonzo

When I first discovered that the lightning bolt shooting from my knee to my ankle was indeed caused by a real, legitimate cause other than me wanting to avoid farm chores, I thought  woohoo! I can write.

Reality? It’s really difficult to be creative while doped up on pain pills and/or an electrical storm is brewing in your calf.

I’m stagnate and I hate it. Detest it really. I never considered myself an active person, but being planted on my backside for four weeks has taught me a thing or two about myself.

1) If I want to do nothing, which I do on occasion, it has to be under my terms. Then again, that really shouldn’t be that big of a surprise. I’ve never been good at following orders.

2) I have a sick obsession with Criminal Minds. Of all the shows on television, I choose that one to watch while vegging on the couch?  Disturbing right? Does it count if the Criminal Minds marathon has been coupled with BBC mysteries. Probably not, huh? You’d think I’d be spending my time watching sappy romances. I guess I don’t feel like crying on top of all the physical pain. Who knows? I can assure you that I don’t want the Behavior Analysis Unit of the FBI messing around with my brain. Oy! Talk about frightening.

3) My mother can guilt me with one raised eyebrow. I had no idea she had that much power over me. It’s wicked. I need to study her technique.

4) I already knew this, but it has been confirmed. I have some awesome friends. Really amazing ones really who are willing to drive to the middle of the boondocks to keep me company or schlepp me into town. That makes me happy, but I don’t think I really needed a busted knee to discover that truth.

5) Writing erotica when in pain, and sex is the very last thing you’d consider doing at the moment is impossible.

So, three more weeks of leg brace. Will I decide to pull my way out of the quicksand–or in my case drug-infused fugue–and do something productive or will I continue to veg on the couch with a bunch of psychos? Maybe if one of those psychos was super-duper hot my thoughts about sex might change, resulting in the ability to write erotica again.

Hey, a girl can dream!


Erotica Interruptus

arctic ice Three years ago, I quit my ridiculously high paying job in Northern Alaska, loaded up my cats and flew to a farm in the Ozarks to start a career as a romance author. I had no idea what I was getting into. If someone had told me then that I would be writing erotica, I would have blushed and giggled.

My,my. How times have changed!

Two main points guided my decision to move to the Ozarks. One, living 300 miles above the Arctic Circle is not conducive to creativity. It has to do with negative energy or gravity or something. Personally, I think it’s just too darn cold for the brain to function. Two, the Ozarks are glorious. Who isn’t inspired by the dogwoods of spring, the lush green fields of summer, the blazing orange and red of the autumn forests and the stark, gray, bareness of winter?

At the time, I thought an added bonus to the move would be the proximity to my family. After living 3,000 miles away from them for over a decade, I was unprepared for their family-ness.

They have no boundaries.

“Oooh, cool quilt!” Let’s walk into the bedroom and examine it. Why not sit on the bed and discuss the merits of quilts over comforters? “Hey, everyone, we’re in the bedroom. Come check out this quilt.”

“Nice dresser, but you really should organize your sock drawer better.”

For the record, 15 of my relatives can fit in my bedroom. Thankfully, I was able to stop them before they inspected the nightsummer pondstand.

Knocking? Completely out of the question. The other day, in an attempt to keep my mother (I love her dearly) at bay while I was writing, I locked the front door. Ma walked around the house to the deck, entered through that door, strolled across the living room and unlocked the front door. She thought she was being helpful because I forgot to unlock the door. Never occurred to her the lock was supposed to be a barrier to entry. Oh well.

The odd thing to me is that if the phone rings, no one would think of answering it. That would be prying. Go figure.

So, imagine these little scenarios and apply it to your writing life. Locked doors don’t keep the family out. Signs on the door that say, “Stay away. I’m writing smut,” only act as a lure. At first, I wasn’t that upset about it. They’d walk in, go to the fridge, grab a beverage and come into the living room to ask what I was up to. It didn’t bother me too much because I could pick up where I left off and continue to write the scene.

Then, I started writing erotica. Remember when you were 16 and your mother caught you making out with your boyfriend on the couch? You thought you were going to die of embarrassment, but as soon as she left the room, you started making out again. For some reason, that doesn’t work when writing about making out. Your mother walks into the room and SMACK! Every ounce of creativity slams against the computer screen and there’s no getting it back. While you were chatting with your mother about the squash bugs devouring the garden, your main character, Drake, started watching football. No matter how enticing and seductive LaFonda is, Drake’s having nothing of it.

I know, it’s fiction. I should be able to make Drake do anything I want him to do, but as you authors know, it doesn’t work that way. No amount of Spanish fly, oysters or green M&Ms is going to get him in the mood again.

I’m considering moving back to the creative-juice-sucking Arctic. It might take a little longer to get the ideas flowing, but once they’re thawed out, I wouldn’t be bothered by anyone. Shoot, there are even restaurants that deliver there. I’d never have to leave the house. Ever.

Does anyone have a better cure for erotica interruptus? I really don’t want to knit booties for my cats and don a 40# parka just so I can get a novella written.

Originally posted on Rachel Leigh’s site.