Wednesday, 23 May 2018

The Erotic Writer's Thesaurus


Okay, okay - despite all my protestations, this is me doing a book review.

The Erotic Writer's Thesaurus, a true labour of love* by Terrance Aldon Shaw, deserves to be the exception to my rule. 513 pages in PDF,  10,000 entries, countless cross-references (okay, I didn't count) and several pages of notes on such tangential topics as lists of gun-types, the strange modern dislike of the word "moist," and the difference between "demur" and "demure," as well as a beautiful little opening essay on the usage of the word "ass" - this is such a useful resource for anyone writing about sex or romance that it feels like a huge relief to have it at my electronic fingertips at last.

What it is not is just a list of filthy words, although GOD YES we all do occasionally need a synonym for "cock" at some point in our sex scenes. A sprawling range of um, relationship-related terms, covering everything from Mascara to Yawn is presented for our educational delight (and now that I have this book, hopefully I will never have to bash out such a clunky descriptor as "relationship-related" again!). It also functions as a dictionary, so you can look up the meaning of, say, "Irrumation" should you so desire, and includes nearly 2000 usage examples. Just browsing it is inspirational.

It rocks.

Some caveats: it is an idiosyncratic work in which the author's voice and opinions comes across strongly in the expanded notes and topics, take it as you like. Reader opinions may differ on, say, whether a particular word is derogatory, or biologically accurate. I'd always avoid describing an adult woman as a "girl," say, except within dialogue, but of course many people do that and intend no slight. Language is a living, mutable, constantly evolving thing and one of the skills an author must have is choosing the right words to convey not just meaning, but also nuance and character.

TAS is also American, and although there are many inclusions from different sources (Hindi, African-American, Portuguese, Yiddish, Elizabethan, etc - all helpfully flagged as such) and he's done his research, I noted in my uncorrected review copy some question-marks when it came to British slang (which have been fixed in the latest PDF).  That's probably inevitable in a single-author work, and to be honest it's probably all but impossible to write accurately in another culture's idiom. This book will hopefully help you flange it, though. (See!)

 The Erotic Writer's Thesaurus is the dog's bollocks πŸ‘πŸ‘πŸ‘ and I will absolutely be buying it in paperback. It will become a well-thumbed treasure.




* Love (n): adoration; affection; ardor; attachment; beyond admiration; caring; craving; devotion; Eros...

Monday, 21 May 2018

Blue Monday: Lea Bronsen guests

Every Monday I post a sexy excerpt for your entertainment!

Today's is from Lea Bronsen's new book, A Thorned Rose in the Sand, about which she says:

"I got the idea for this story after watching a video of French “globe cooker” Fred Chesneau visiting nomads in the Moroccan desert. They generously shared their food, home, and wisdom with a stranger, and I thought it would be cool to write about a female rally driver having the same experience – but with more spice!

A Thorned Rose in the Sand is set in the beautiful, quiet dunes of western Sahara where the sun is so hot you can’t walk barefooted and you could go miles and miles without seeing a single soul. In this story, you’ll meet a badass 450cc rally motorcycle, an opiniated but gentle dromedary, and two highly strong-willed young persons from opposite sides of the planet who get off to a bad start then can’t keep their hands off each other" 😊


When life in a big U.S. city becomes too much, Stevie Jones decides to live her wildest dream – compete against the tough guys in a motorcycle rally across Morocco. But the real excitement is found away from the race track, in the shifting sands of the desert.

After his studies in London, Ragab has returned to the nomadic lifestyle of his Bedouin family and the majestic silence of the Sahara. He dreams of the perfect wife, until a beautiful but feisty biker stuck in a sand dune turns his quiet world upside down.



The girl screamed behind him. “Eeeeee!”

Too hard to resist. Until now, Ragab had had a difficult time respecting her privacy, but surely, a scream called for attention. What kind of a gentleman would he be if he didn’t check on a woman in distress?

He spun and found her kneeling on her jacket, nude and wet, arms outstretched in shock. He bit down a laugh. Yes, the deep well water was cold, but one got used to it, and in the extreme heat of the desert, it was a blessing.

She turned, caught him staring, and even though he couldn’t see anything inappropriate, she hurried to cover her breasts and pubic area. “Look away!” she shouted, voice panicky.

The laugh bubbled inside him, but he obediently turned back to the motorcycle—then stood in such a way he could see her reflection in one of the side mirrors.

Oh, it was like watching a porn scene. Her long, red curls hung wild over her back and round, white butt cheeks. Every time she moved, a portion of her breasts appeared in the space between her ribs and arms. Such perfect feminine curves, all over. Imagine if he saw the front…

Blood rushed to his groin. Stiffening, bothered, he tore from the sight, walked over to the well, and leaned against its waist-high wall, hoping the hardness of the bricks and coolness from the water below would temper his arousal before it became a full-blown erection.

So silent…

He strained to hear.

Splashes. Muffled squeals. More splashes.

He turned slowly and stole a glance from the corner of his eye.

She washed her panties and black top in the bucket and leaned forward to spread them in the sun. Her position exposed the dark pink lips of her sex, from the tiny hole in her butt to the end of her slit, where her clitoris hid.

Ooh!

Shocked to his core, he turned back and groaned low, his cock hardening again.

He closed his eyes, drew long, slow breaths to calm the painful throbbing and counted minutes, trying to think of something else.

His dromedary, for example. It would be cool to show her how to ride it. What if he rode another one, and they both galloped on the dunes together, she laughing, ecstatic…

Then they’d roll in the sand, and he would tease her thighs apart and slide his hungry hardness into her dark pink lips, to the wet bottom of her. Oh, yes.

She called, “Ready?”

He risked a glance in her direction.

Wearing one of his sisters’ dresses and looking divine with her red curls floating behind her—and her face white and clean—she strolled to the motorcycle, carrying a bag and her clothes. She stuffed everything on top of the fuel tanks, got up, lifted the dress to her knees, and started the motor.

Not once looking at him.


Buy A Thorned Rose in the Sand at:



Add the book to your shelf on Goodreads

See photos that inspired Lea to write the book on Pinterest


Lea Bronsen likes her reads hot, fast, and edgy, and strives to give her own stories the same intensity. After venturing into dirty inner-city crime drama with her debut novel Wild Hearted, she divides her writing time between psychological thriller, romantic suspense, and dark erotic romance.


Meet Lea Bronsen on



Friday, 18 May 2018

The Domino effect


I watched Deadpool 2 yesterday. Don't worry, no spoilers, but I thought it was loads of clever, violent fun. And now I am drooling over super-cool Domino, played by Zazie Beetz.


You know how I like kick-ass women ... I mean, 😍😍😍


Wednesday, 16 May 2018

Sexy Trees


I have joined a very silly Facebook group called SEXY TREES. It was actually inspired by this rather nice article ... but fundamentally is for people who are childishly amused by pics like this one I took in Peru a few years back:


I mean, who doesn't love that?

Monday, 14 May 2018

Blue Monday

Every Monday I post a sexy excerpt for your entertainment!

Today's snippet is from my recently re-released Arabian Nights novel Heart of Flame. It's a romance novel, mind, so don't go expecting chapter upon chapter of rumpy-pumpy, but it does feature TWO passionate and troublesome romantic relationships, so there's a lot of angst going around. The main story is that of Taqla and Rafiq, who are charging back and forth across the Middle East on a magic horse, trying to rescue the Amir of Damascus' daughter from the djinni who's kidnapped her. Since this is taking some time, poor abducted Ahleme is having to deal with the djinni Yazid herself...


He circled the pillar until he was almost on top of her. “You humans must be miserable all your short lives,” he growled. "Living without love."

She averted her face, pivoting on her trapped ankle to turn her back on him. “Maybe we are. It isn’t important.” She rested one flank against the pillar, feeling the cool glass against her thigh and left breast.

“How can you say that?” He was standing right over her now. She could feel his breath on her hair when he spoke. “I would make you happy, Ahleme, if you’d let me.”

“You’d make me your slave,” she whispered.

“I would set you free.” His hand descended on her thick braid at the nape of her neck and she jerked.

“No!” she warned. Yazid hissed and withdrew his hand.

“Don’t—I’m not going to hurt you. Not even touch you. Just your hair, Ahleme. Let me stroke your hair.”

She pressed her face to the pillar, gathering her will to repel him. Then he laid his hand on her head gently and ran it down her braided hair, and she nearly whimpered.

“There. There. It’s not hurting you, is it?”

He wasn’t hurting her. Her resistance wavered.

“You’ve beautiful hair, like darkest honey.” His voice was a low murmur, and Ahleme felt her bones turn to water at its purr. She was tired and scared and she dreaded the thought of mutilating herself once more—every part of her recoiled from that thought—but she would do it to stop his assault, she was ready for that if she must. If he did. If he didn’t just stand there stroking her hair, twining the long tail of her braid with his fingertip, dipping his face to the top of her head to breathe the scent of the rosewater she’d washed her hair with. She shut her eyes. He wasn’t hurting her. It didn’t feel bad. It even felt good, this slow caress, because it had been so long since she’d been touched or embraced or comforted by anyone she knew. She was accustomed to physical contact every day with her women, and she’d missed those soothing fingers massaging or anointing or combing out her hair. It was good now just to feel the contact, the rhythm of his stroking hand, the warmth radiating from his skin, the brush of his fingers on her spine…

She shivered.

“Oh… Your skin is so soft.” Yazid traced the line of her backbone, from the cloth stretched across her shoulder blades all the way down to the hem of her skirt just above the cleft of her bottom, exploring each dimple of her spine. He was very gentle and she couldn’t feel even the tip of his claw. She wanted to feel angry but she couldn’t. It would have been so much easier if he’d made her angry. She couldn’t even feel scared now, not really, although in one way she was as dizzy with terror as if she were back outside standing on that high arch. Yet it wasn’t a fear that made her recoil or fight. It made her press herself to the glass, aware of every inch of her skin as he repeated the motion. Her scalp pricked and shivers chased the length of her back, raising gooseflesh, which he soothed away with the warm sweep of his palm. “Don’t be frightened,” he whispered.

She was frightened. And yet she wasn’t, not at all. She didn’t understand how she was feeling, only that that there wasn’t room to step back and analyse it, only to react to that gentle, searing touch. One way or the other.

“Let me just stroke you.” Yazid’s spread hand nearly encompassed the whole width of her waist. “You’re so beautiful. I just want to…” His hand slid over one firm cheek of her bottom.

“No!” she groaned, stiffening instantly. No—that was too far, she knew that. That crossed the line. Yazid removed his hand.

“All right. It’s all right. Just your back. You don’t mind me touching your back, do you?”

How could she say no, when she’d let him already? When he went back to stroking her back it was such a relief, and such pleasure. Even when he hooked a finger under the stretched cloth of her top and the fabric turned to dust that fell shimmering down her smooth skin like sprinkles of gold.

Ahleme gasped and pressed her bare breasts to the glass, her breath fogging the blue surface. Yazid laid his hand flat between her shoulder blades, on the bit that always itched, rubbing in slow circles.

“Don’t be afraid. You’re beautiful, my Jewel of the Earth.” His voice was the growl of a lion, but so quiet, so very quiet that he had to lower his mouth to her temple and utter the words with his lips brushing her ear, something that sent shivers prickling all over her skin. He sensed the movement and scratched her gently between the shoulder blades, which made her gasp with gratitude. Then he ran his claws down her back, tenderly, all the way to the rising sweep of her rump, and that made her groan out loud. “Oh yes,” he breathed.

Dimly she realized she wasn’t thinking straight anymore, that somewhere along the line sensation had become too important, that her body was overriding her better judgment. Somewhere in her head she was still scared and outraged by the djinni, but not enough to drive him off. Not even when he buried his face in her hair and breathed deeply the scent there, not even when his bare chest brushed against her bare back, his heat making up for the cold of the glass he was pushing her up against, the cold that was pinching her nipples to stiff points. Not even when he stopped talking and just breathed hard and quick.



Buy Heart of Flame from your seller of choice HERE



A romantic Arabian Nights adventure

The most beautiful woman in all Arabia has been abducted by a djinni - and only forbidden magic can bring about her rescue.

Taqla the sorceress lives in comfortable secrecy, until she agrees to help the handsome traveller Rafiq find the kidnapped daughter of the Amir. They set off together on a journey fraught with magic and peril, though a landscape of ancient desert ruins, terrible monsters and deception. With so many secrets to keep, Taqla cannot afford to trust Rafiq – and yet she must, with her life.
In the meantime, the captive Ahleme must try to fend off the attentions of the terrifying djinni who wishes to father upon her a new saviour of the Djinn race. Can Ahleme survive her imprisonment? Can Taqla really bring herself to help Rafiq win Ahleme back, when she is hopelessly in love with him herself? Can she trust him not to betray her, when sorcery is a crime punishable by death?  Passion may yet betray them all.