Hey kittens! Glad to see ya. This week I wanted to let you know about this fantastic romantic erotica giveaway I’m a part of. All these authors got together to offer a story for #free through Instafreebie from 8/24- 9/5. I’m giving away my infamous threesome story, Unmasked, but if menage isn’t your thing, there’s tons of stuff to choose from: contemporary, paranormal, kink, vanilla— whatever your pleasure might be. And no, you don’t need to tell me about it in the comments… 😉 Just go to the site, click on the title to get a description and claim the ones you like. Instafreebie offers stories in mobi, epub, and pdf formats, so you can read them on anything you like. Click the banner below and it will take you to the landing page. Got it? Good. Now I can go get a few books for myself…
See y’all, I am doing better on this blog post thing! I am trying to be a better hostess. The topic today is about free stuff. We all love free stuff, right? I mean, who doesn’t like getting something for nothing? And I don’t mind giving stuff away. For example, all of my work with Little Red Hen Romance is available on Kindle Unlimited for free. We also do a lot of free promotions on those books too. It’s good way to thank your readers and entice new ones. This month, I decided to try something new with Instafreebie. I’m trying to grow my newsletter to keep all you Belles informed about my new releases plus keep you up to date on appearances, what I’m reading, and all sorts of other shenanigans.
The newsletter is called The Hell’s Belles and it comes out at the beginning of each month. In every issue, I’ll feature news, my recommendations in “What Is Lexx Reading?,” writing tips, and hopefully share some questions and answers from all of YOU! I’d also like to feature some free reads that you can download straight to your device to help you escape on your lunch breaks and commutes. So if you’d like to sign up, just follow this link:
It will take you to the sign-up page where you can get on my mailing list AND it will give you a copy of my erotic short, “Unmasked” in whatever format you like (pdf, mobi, epub). So what have you got to lose? I promise your info won’t be sold and you won’t be bombarded with “buy my shit” messages in your inbox every day.
I look forward to seeing you soon!
I LOVE filling up my Kindle with new stuff. But of course, that can get expensive so I’m always on the lookout for QUALITY books on sale. Well Zenobia Renquist has answered my prayers with a #99cents sale on her re-release of VIP Wine Service that runs through Sept. 26th! She’s here at the blog today to give us all a tasty morsel from this hot erotic romance…
VIP Room Service (Other Related Duties #1) by Zenobia Renquist
A hotel erotica tale hot enough to set the screen on fire.
She offers satisfaction above and beyond what is requested.
Lexie’s job as a maid at a five-star hotel doesn’t normally include the unique and risqué form of room service that rich guest Mr. Malena has requested, nor the generous tip he’s offered. Submission and exhibition and a ménage. Lexie can’t resist. What should have been a one-time thing turns into an introduction into the sensual world of customer satisfaction. This is one workplace encounter that could get her fired…or will it?
NOTE: Title previously published as Wine Service (Professional Courtesy 1).
** Read an Excerpt **
She drew in a long gasping breath and then choked on it as someone knocked at the door.
She widened her eyes, and her pleasure dropped to nil.
“Ah. Right on time.” Mr. Malena dialed off the vibrator, removed it, and set it aside. He called, “One moment.”
“What?” Lexie asked in a frantic whisper. She clutched at the comforter, debating if she should hide in the bathroom or under the bed. Had the server heard her? Had he recognized her voice?
She looked at her uniform draped over the back of the chair. He would know a housekeeper was with Mr. Malena. A housekeeper who was undressed with a wide variety of toys out in the open. No deductive reasoning was needed to figure out what was happening or who the housekeeper was.
Mr. Malena patted her belly. “Shhhh.” He held his finger to his lips. “Just relax.”
“I can’t relax,” Lexie whispered back. “He’ll see me.”
“No, he won’t.” He grinned. “Not your face, at any rate.” He urged her to lie back before draping a towel over her head. “There.”
“Shhhh. You don’t want him to recognize your voice, if you know him. So long as you stay still, he won’t see your face.”
“What about the rest of me? What about my uniform? And the cart outside?” Lexie could see her job ending. She should have known this was too good to be true.
“I’ll take care of it. Now hush.”
Clothing rustled. Lexie peeked under the towel in time to see Mr. Malena fold her uniform into one of the dresser drawers and close it. He slipped on a robe and then glanced back at her. She yanked the towel back down. She wanted to roll herself in the comforter. Wanted to and didn’t at the same time.
She only had to keep her face covered, and the server wouldn’t know who she was. The idea of letting a virtual stranger see her naked titillated her. Her clit throbbed and ached to be touched. She clutched at the towel and waited.
Mr. Malena opened the door. “Thank you, my good man. I am famished. This way.”
Lexie frowned. When had he ordered room service? Had he done it before she arrived and known it would get here while they were playing? He did seem less flustered by this turn of events than she was, as if he’d planned it.
The server asked, “Where do you want— Whoa!”
A long pause followed that exclamation. The server had seen her.
VIP Wine Service is available at these online retail stores:
All Romance eBooks:
Smashwords (use coupon code FH44L at checkout to receive sale price)
About Zenobia Renquist:
Zenobia Renquist is the alter-ego of D. Renee Bagby. Call her Zen or Renee, she answers to both. Air Force brat turned Air Force wife, she was born in Europe, has lived in Japan and in several states of the US, including Virginia, Florida, North Carolina, Texas, California, Maryland and Hawaii.
She moved a lot in her younger years and remembers all too well being the new kid in fish-out-of-water situations. But those experiences only made her better able to adapt, as well they gave her a love of travel, preferring road trips over flying.
Turning her favorite pastime into her career, Renee loves to build worlds and torture her characters for the enjoyment of her readers. She can’t fill everyday with writing alone, and also enjoys watching anime, reading manga, crocheting, knitting (yarn and mail), and binging shows on Netflix. She’s a Whovian (David Tennant for the win!), a trekkie (DS9 because Odo rocked), and a fan of pretty much every Marvel live action movie and DCU animated movie.
She has a wacky imagination and tends to write all over the place. In order to keep up, she only asks one thing—Leave Your Reality Behind to Discover Different and Unique Romance & Erotica.
Visit her website: http://zenobiarenquist.com
Follow her on Twitter: https://twitter.com/ZenobiaRenquist
Like her Facebook Fan Page: http://www.facebook.com/Author.DRBagby.ZRenquist
Like her Amazon Author Page: http://www.amazon.com/Zenobia-Renquist/e/B002BWYVW8/
Review her on Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/zenobiarenquist
Get her Authorgraph: http://www.authorgraph.com/authors/ZenobiaRenquist
Sign up for her Newsletter: https://signup.ymlp.com/signup.js?id=geusujygmguu
It’s a very exciting day here at The Southern Belle from Hell!! One of my favorite erotic authoresses is taking over the blog today to reveal the cover of her delicious new book, Wine Service. Mmmm… two of my favorite things, wine and steamy romance. So get ready for….
She offers satisfaction above and beyond what is requested.
Lexie’s job as a housekeeper at a five-star hotel doesn’t normally include the unique and risqué form of room service that important hotel guest Mr. Malena has requested, nor the generous tip he’s offered. Lexie can’t resist, and what should have been a one-time thing turns into an introduction into the sensual world of customer satisfaction. She finds much enjoyment in her “work,” but is it worth risking her job?
Zenobia Renquist is an Air Force brat turned Air Force wife. She and her husband are owned by two demanding cats of the long-haired persuasion. Born in Europe and currently stationed in Hawaii, Zenobia has been traveling all her life. “Where are you from?” is not a question she likes to be asked but will usually answer Virginia, because it’s the one place that feels like home.
Zenobia’s stories range from steamy to scorching and she writes whichever genre catches her interest at the time. When not coming up with ways to torture her characters, she enjoys knitting and crochet (both regular and Tunisian) as well as reading shoujo and yaoi manga.
Learn More About Zenobia Renquist:
Website – http://zenobiarenquist.com
Blog – http://blog.dreneebagby.com/
Twitter – http://twitter.com/ZenobiaRenquist
Newsletter – http://ymlp.com/xgeusujygmgq
Facebook Fan Page – http://www.facebook.com/Author.DRBagby.ZRenquist
Well baby loves, I’ve been away on vacation for a week but now I’m back and ready to roll! The last few days I’ve been playing “catch up” at the day job, doing LOTS of laundry and trying to figure out Google+ (Do people really use that? If you do, please join me there and teach me the ways of your people.).
Well is there a more perfect way to come back after vacation than to have a shiny new release? I don’t think so. That’s right, it’s finally available from Ellora’s Cave— “Gentlemen Prefer Blondes.” It’s a short little erotic horror piece that was shamelessly inspired by the craziness of the #Sherlock fandom. In fact, I’m really expecting some kind of cease and desist order from #BenedictCumberbatch ‘s legal team. I defy you not to see the similarities in the “hero”, Alexander Kensington and Mr. #Cumberbatch. Though, I have to apologize a little for that. I can’t tell you why, as it would spoil the story. Just keep in mind— it’s erotic HORROR. “Happily ever after” is not part of the equation. So I’m going to shut up and give you a little glimpse….
I did a little research before hitting the salon. Just a little. Alex’s tastes in women haven’t really changed all that much—blonde stick figures with lazy bedroom eyes and pale skin. Or, as I like to call them, corpses. The hardest part, really, was losing the weight. For a year I’ve done nothing but eat seaweed and go for unenergetic walks around the block. The good news is, I now have that ghostly, wan look I’ve always wanted. Then all I needed was a little hair dye, some makeup and a new red dress. Standing in front of the full length mirror in the hotel bathroom, I surprised myself. For a moment I might have believed that I could actually be one of them. One of those posh peacocks who looked like living goddesses as they strolled down the street.
Teetering on high heels, I step out to cross the street to his hotel. It’s late, nearly midnight. He’ll be at the bar, having a drink at a table in the corner and trying to be unobtrusive. It’s been his habit each night for several weeks. Come in from set, take a shower, put on something casual and un-put-together and head down to the hotel bar for a vodka and tonic. He stays there for about an hour. That’s how long it usually takes for some doe-eyed waitress to catch his eye. They exchange niceties. He compliments her smile. She stammers and blushes, immediately recognizing him by that gravely baritone voice. Innocently, he flashes his famous boyish grin and begs for her utmost discretion, which she will, of course give. At least until the next morning on Twitter. He always leaves a pile of cash on the table and then ushers her out of the bar and up to his room. It’s Alex’s M.O. and it isn’t new. Of course, tonight will be different. Tonight I’ll be the prey.
Copyright © Alexandra Christian, 2014; All Rights Reserved, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.
Ok, so now that I’ve tempted you with an excerpt, I better tell you where you can find this jewel. You can click the image above or go to http://www.ellorascave.com/gentlemen-prefer-blondes.html to download in any of your favorite eBook formats. I’ve also put together a little muse board on Pinterest if you’re interested. It has pics, music, recipes and little excerpts from the story: http://www.pinterest.com/lexxxchristian/gentlemen-prefer-blondes/ . And speaking of social media– I’ve done a little update page that has all of my links so you can stalk me better. If you aren’t following me on Twitter, Facebook, etc– you’re missing out. I’m way funnier on Twitter at 2am. Just sayin’…
Good afternoon, friends! I’m so happy to be here pimping my own book for a change. I know, it doesn’t happen often. I’ll try not to let it go to my head. Anyway, you know how I’ve been writing that series for Mocha Memoirs Press, Strange Bedfellows? Well, I finally managed to finish the third installment! Cali and sexy vampires Andre and Leo are up to more shenanigans in this one. There’s a walk through Hell, a zombie speed dating party and evil attack spiders with baby faces. A new character is also introduced, Seth, a fallen angel that is in desperate need of Cali’s help to save his soul. It was a total surprise to me when he showed up, but my muse seems to want to be in everything these days (ahem… paging #BenedictCumberbatch). Anyway, here’s a little excerpt since y’all are my friends…
“Hello,” she said softly. Her voice wavered a little but strangely she found that she wasn’t afraid. Not like before. Perhaps she was bewitched, but her mind was quiet. “Who’s there?” No one spoke, but she could feel the warmth of a body close by. She knew he was male, she could smell him. A light scent of leather, cool mint and a light musk permeated the air and Cali couldn’t help but shiver. She wanted him to come closer, but she was afraid to ask. She should be frightened. Panicking that some stranger was watching her, taking in every naked inch of her flesh, but she wasn’t. She wanted him to look and in fact, could feel herself arching slightly and thrusting her breasts into view. “Is it you, Necromancer?” she hissed. “Standing there in the dark, wanting me but afraid to touch? I can smell you, you know. The scent of your desire is pungent, Sir.” Cali inhaled deeply, a seductive smile crossing her ruby lips as she took in the masculine aroma. She shuddered, her body responding almost involuntarily. He hadn’t even touched her and already she could feel the dewy pearls of wetness forming at her center. “Has it been so long? So long since you felt the touch of a warm, living body that hasn’t been poisoned by your obsession?”
Her visitor still did not speak, but she could feel him coming closer. The bed bounced lightly as he sat down beside her, still just staring. She could hear him breathe, slow and even, trying to hide any note of his own arousal, but it was too practiced. Cali grinned, knowing that she was having some effect. The stranger reached down, his arm lightly touching hers as he leaned forward. This time Cali did gasp, as the sound she heard at first was unrecognizable. Then it dawned on her that there was water being poured from some vessel into a bowl. A heavy, liquid sound that was just beside her ear. She would have expected it to be cold, but she could feel some kind of warmth emanating from whatever basin the liquid was being poured into. The pouring ended in a slow dripping and the basin was brought across and laid by her side on the bed. She could hear it sloshing around and she tried not to move. If she spilled the contents, her strange host might be angry and in her current predicament, that could be exceptionally bad.
The light scent of lavender and cherry bark wafted through the room on a still breeze. Slow dripping, warm water over hot flesh. Cali gasped as the drops hit one by one across her chest. Almost deliberately they beaded just over the curve of each breast and then slid down lazily to heavenly valleys below her sternum. A single bead alighted on the rose point of each nipple. They hardened immediately, as if reaching out for the source of the wet heat. Cali wanted to moan, but she bit down on her lip hard enough to bring blood, afraid that if she made a sound that this delicious sensation would end. Whoever was with her had perfect control and knew just how high to place the drops so that the warm, scented liquid kissed each erogenous zone as he continued this gradual, sweet Chinese water torture. A dotted path led the way down the curve of her belly to the subtle dip of her navel. Her captor dribbled more of the warm water into the tiny cup until it spilled over and began to gently flow down the slope and into the nest of fine, downy curls that hid her femininity. This time she gasped. She couldn’t help it. She pulled at her bonds, lost in the delayed pleasure and frantic desire. “Touch me,” she rasped, but still he did not speak. Only the sound of the basin being moved aside would answer her command.
Wasn’t that just hotter than summer in Calcutta? Yeah, I thought so too. So now, here’s the good news— if you haven’t read the first two stories, you can get them separately for #99cents on Kindle until July 20th. BUT, to get all three stories, including the newest installment, “Dead Sexy,” you can get all three collected for just $4.99! The collection is also available in #paperback for those of you that want something to take on the beach. Don’t forget to read, review, tweet and share with your friends! That’s right… pimp it!!
I’m sure it’s a huge surprise to all of you, my dearest readers, but I write romance novels.
I know, usually on here I’m talking about a television show or #BenedictCumberbatch ‘s thighs, but today I decided to be different and actually talk about my process. This came to mind earlier in the week when I was trying to write a sex scene and failing miserably. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to write it, I just felt like I was retreading the same soil over and over. I mean, how many times can you write “put tab A into slot B”? Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. In case you didn’t know– this is a SERIOUS handicap for an author of erotic romance.
So how can you make your sex scenes properly smoldering? I’ve compiled a short list—
1. The sex must be essential to moving the plot forward. The difference between a romance novel and any other sort of book is that the center of the plot hinges on the relationship between your protagonists. External factors must contribute to the growth of their relationship. Sex is one of those external factors. Think about it this way– compare Titanic with Debbie Does Dallas. In Titanic, when Jack and Rose are gettin’ busy in the car, it’s sealing their relationship and essentially setting us all up for a good cry when Jack dies at the end (sorry… spoilers for all you people that have been living under a rock for the last 15 years). That relationship changes Rose’s life by giving her the strength to follow her dreams. In Debbie Does Dallas, there is no relationship. The main characters’ impetus for having sex is well… to drive them toward the next sex scene. Remember, if you want to write a memorable sex scene, go for Titanic, not Debbie Does Dallas. There has to be something at stake.
2. Vocabulary. In my sex scenes, I tend to have a lot of inner dialogue from my POV character. It’s not all about describing the act itself, though that’s part of it. Taking a cue from Anais Nin, I always find that using decadent language sparingly adds some heat without having to say a lot. No purple prose, mind you, but words and phrases that tumble from the tongue. I always have the gravelly baritone of my muse reading aloud in my ear as I write. If it doesn’t sound good to my ear, I rephrase.
3. Coarse language should be used sparingly. Consider the mood you’re wanting to project. You want your readers to be titillated, enticed and wishing that they were the characters in the story having this magnificent experience. At no time have I ever wanted my lover to say “show me your dripping wet love hole.” Eeeewwwww…. Sex and love is beautiful, not gross. No gaping maws of love or meat daggers, please.
4. Don’t make the mistake of thinking that erotica is the same thing as pornography. They can have the same affect, but they are NOT the same thing. So here’s the Jeff Foxworthy portion of the blog post. Presenting: You might be pornography…
* If “butt blasting” is in the title of your story, you might be pornography.
* If your characters’ names are Daddy, Mom, or First Cousin, you might be pornography.
* If your book has a woman in a leash sucking a riding crop on the cover, you might be pornography.
* If your heroine is pursued, captured and ravaged by a dinosaur, you might be pornography.
Just some food for thought, kids! Happy writing!
Yes, I did spell that correctly. Time for a little sexy excerpt (see what I did there?) from my #newrelease from #EllorasCave! Uggh… I hate hashtags, but some genius computer person thinks they’re necessary. Whatever. Here’s a sexy little excerpt from Hellsong. I do believe in taking a test drive before you buy the car…
She shuddered, feeling dizzy at the warmth of his breath. She could feel his eyelashes against her cheek and she turned her head slightly. He took this as an invitation and brushed his parted lips against her temple, kissing her eyes, then the crest of her cheek and down the narrow path of bone to her lips. She couldn’t help herself from opening her mouth to him, letting his tongue delve inside to play against her teeth.
She sank deeper into his embrace, arching her body upward to offer more of her mouth to his fevered kiss. His arms wrapped around her tighter, his hands resting on the corners of her hips, then drifting lower to the rounded flesh of her bottom. She groaned softly when he squeezed, using the leverage to press her body tighter against his. “What are you?” she whispered against his lips.
“You know what I am,” he growled, forcing her against the window frame, pinning her between the rough wood and his body.
“This can’t be real,” she gasped as his mouth found the hollow of her throat.
“Say it,” he ordered, his voice gravelly with arousal. He twisted his fingertips into her hair, pulling her head back to bite at the overheated flesh. “I need to hear you say it.”
“Angel,” she whimpered, getting lost in the feel of his mouth traveling over the contours of her collarbone and shoulders. “Angel,” she repeated in a breathless whisper. “You must be…” She groaned, cradling his head against her chest. His hair slipped through her fingertips like late summer corn silk and she twisted the strands around her fingers.
Saraqael smiled in a way that conveyed utter relief as he fell to his knees before her. He rested his hands on either side of her waist, his thumbs digging in to the fleshy hips, keeping her still above him. The sloppy, button-down shirt she wore was open, showing a hint of the concave of her belly just over the waistband of her jeans. He used the tip of his nose to open the folds and press his lips to her skin. Her breath caught in her throat as she tried to stifle the moan when his tongue delved into the hollow of her navel suggestively. “Fallen?” she asked through clenched teeth.
“Not yet, but I’m sure you’ll work harder, Daemon. I used to be the Archangel Uriel,” he whispered, brushing his generous lips over the curves of her hips. “And when I was sent to Earth, I became the Grigori.” He watched her reactions, taking in each nuance as his fingertips trilled over her skin—higher and higher the crept. Her breath came in short gasps, her skin prickling at his touch. When his fingers reached the smooth satin of her bra, she felt a jolt of fire between her legs. And when his palm found the center, she feared that the flames would devour her.
“Perhaps it is you who is the demon,” she groaned.
He smiled and ran his hand over her sternum. “Perhaps I’m seducing you for my own sport.”
“Not very angelic, Grigori.”
He did not respond but straightened to his full kneeling height. With a careless gesture, he pulled the shirt open, letting the buttons fly carelessly. The cool night air from the window made goose bumps pop out all over, pulling her skin taut. Before she had time to complain about it, the warmth oozed over her body as his hands found their way under the satin barrier covering her breasts. His rough, calloused palm scratched against her nipple, making it harden immediately. She whimpered with the sudden heaviness and arched her body toward his.
Damn. I love that Saraqael. He’s just… rawwrrr… He’s one of three “men” in that book that are just… rawwrr. Have I mentioned I like men? A lot?
So I’m reading all these really interesting new books lately from friends and I’m really excited to share them with everyone. I came across “An Angel Has No Memory” and I thought it was worthy of sharing with all of you. The author, Peter Tupper, was kind enough to come over to The Belle and tell us a little about his new release!
Greetings. My name is Peter Tupper. I’m a writer and journalist in Vancouver, BC, and I’m here to tell you about my new book, An Angel Has No Memory, published by Inkstained Succubus.
The woman– the Asset– the Toy– turned to face her, focussing her entire, though limited, attention. “Good day, Ms. Chung,” she said.
“Hello, ah, Gold,” Rose said, on edge. She knew about the Fulfilment House’s Assets, people who had agreed to have their bodies surgically reshaped into images of beauty and strength, and their brains augmented with millions of dollars worth of hardware, so their memories and identities could be erased and reprogrammed depending on the assignment: anything from sex worker to lawyer to assassin. She had seen images in the parent corporation’s advertising, but she’d never been face to face with one.
This one smiled at her with the tranquil, uncaring expression of a happy child. There was no complexity in there, no resentment, no hidden agenda or angry judgement waiting for her to make a mistake.
In An Angel has no Memory, Rose works as a programmer for Assets, people who can be programmed with whatever personality and skills are needed for the assignment. In between assignments, the Assets are kept in a child-like amnesiac state, and live in a carefully controlled environment where they exercise and do simple art. (If you notice a resemblance to a certain Joss Whedon television series, please keep it to yourself.)
Rose deals with the anxieties and frustrations of her job by pretending to be an Asset in their blank state, even stealing a set of Asset clothing and wearing it at home. She finds relief in being like a child or doll, separate from everyday life and the demands of being a person, and being cared for by others.
This is similar to the BDSM practices of submission, ageplay or petplay: stepping away from our society’s injunctions to be capable and responsible at all times. What people find puzzling and disturbing about masochism is the way it goes against the assumption that everybody wants to be more powerful, more free. Masochism is fundamentally perverse, but it meets the needs of the masochist, not only for suffering or for a lack of responsibility, but for recognition by another.
Going to an even further stage is disability pretenders, people who fantasize about being paralyzed or that their limbs are amputated. It’s more than just the physical state of disability, or the fantasy of such. Functionalist sociologist Talcott Parsons identified what he called “the sick role”, in which the sick person is exempt from social obligations and not responsible for their condition, but must comply with medical authority and try to get well. Those who aren’t deemed sick are considered hypochondriacs or malingerers, and are effectively cheating. The sick role has its rewards.
When I was a kid, I went through an odd week when I really wanted to have a hearing aid, like the guy I had seen on a PBS kids show. Bear in mind, this was back when hearing aids were boxes bigger than a first generation iPod, with visible wires connecting to big earpieces, and you had to wear it on your chest to pick up people speaking. It made the wearer’s deafness extremely visible. I made myself a toy version with some string and a bit of wooden train track, and wore it for a while, then got tired off it. These days, hearing aids are much smaller, able to fit into the ear canal, and people who use them are less visible or even invisible. I doubt a modern hearing aid would have had the same impact on me; it wouldn’t have been visible enough.
In Lars von Trier’s film The Idiots (1998), a group of mentally and physically sound people gather to pretend to be a commune for people with severe mental disabilities. They go on expeditions into spaces like public pools and supermarkets where they twitch and drool. Even “the idiots” themselves don’t agree on why they are doing this; some want to shock the bourgeoisie, others see it as self-exploration and creative expression, others want a break from regular life. At least one member of the group really can’t cope with “real life”, further complicating the issue.
In Chuck Pahlaniuk’s Fight Club, the narrator attends support groups for people with incurable physical illnesses, partaking of their unconditional acceptance and support, because he cannot acknowledge he is depressed and lonely.
In Vicki Hooks’ erotic stories of amputee pretending, which sometimes combine with transvestism, the protagonist’s apparent disability does not lead to social isolation, but instead to friendship and romance.
Even the TV series Glee had a character who faked a stutter to avoid social interaction, and another who claimed self-diagnosed Asperger’s to excuse her obnoxious personality.
If masochism is fundamentally a need for recognition by another, then it would make sense that a person would voluntarily take on the role of the abject, the sick, the disabled, the weak, the primitive. This performance simultaneously sheds their old identity and creates a new one, one that is “special” and visible.
The problems start when you remember that some people can’t leave the “sick role” when they feel like it.
You can find Peter on the Web at http://www.petertupper.com
Well, it’s finally here!! You can officially purchase my new short, “Ingenue,” from Ellora’s Cave! It’s a sexy little historical romance that takes place near the end of the Roaring 20s. It’s the era just before “talkies,” when Vaudeville was king. Variety show circuits dominated the entertainment industry, bringing song and dance, bawdy comedy acts and striptease to the masses. Though our story takes place in the 20s, burlesque dates back much farther. Theaters in Victorian London staged popular parodies of grand opera and Shakespearean plays that had comedic musical numbers and raunchy humor. Of course, it didn’t take long for the art form to cross the pond into America where, like everything else, it was made bigger, raunchier and rowdier. Striptease was added to the mix and the shows became more of a variety-style format with comedians, magicians, singers and short versions of the English style that might parody a popular play or some political issue of the time. Striptease, for obvious reasons, became a major draw for the shows. However, rules became more and more stringent and the performers found creative ways to get past obscenity laws. Pasties and props kept the essentials covered and the routines were more about the tease and less about the strip. The “hoofers” were not only sexy, but talented singers, dancers and comediennes. Stars such as Gypsy Rose Lee, Sally Rand and Blaze Starr emerged as classy sex symbols of their time.
“Ingenue” is a story about this Golden Age of Burlesque. The heroine, Rose D’Vine, is a burlesque dancer, desperate to escape the seedy New York theater scene and break into movies. She’s so desperate that she’s willing to sell her love to the highest bidder– a horrible meal ticket named Charlie Potter. He’s abusive and selfish, but he’s got connections in high places and he’s promised to make her a star. What Rose really needs is a hero. Enter Stefan, the soft-spoken stagehand. He’s loved Rose for years and wants to take her away from Charlie. He wants to make all of her dreams come true, but what does a poor immigrant have to offer. Only his love.
Stay tuned for an excerpt, but in the meantime….
Never fall in love with a hoofer. That’s the advice given to Stefan—advice he immediately ignores when he falls head-over-heels in love with burlesque dancer Rose, the shimmying, corseted star of the Footlight Theatre. But wicked, wounded Rose is far out of the humble stagehand’s reach.
Rose has stars in her eyes—and bruises on her face. As she suffers abuse at the hands of a cruel patron, she dreams of the day when she’ll find her way out of her nightmare and into the arms of the passionate, protective Stefan.
Inside scoop: This book contains scenes of domestic violence before the heroine fights back and finds her true hero.