No more furtive glances at worn copies of your mother’s ‘Men in Love’ or ‘Women on Top’ !
It’s Erotic World Book Day – a day to celebrate and be part of a new tradition. I have always, since I could read, sought the thrill of human sensual interaction in my books. From Jack and Jill innocently trundling up the hill together to the blossoming sexuality of Judy Blume – I loved it. I love books that explored the full spectrum of being a human.
I remember the first time I read some of the essays in ‘Men in Love’ by Nancy Friday – it was like everything suddenly made sense – the dots joined up. Literature and sex could and did go hand in hand.
So here we are today celebrating with hundreds, hopefully thousands of other erotic book readers and authors. The party is huge! Emily Dubberly the founder of Cliterati has pulled together erotic authors to raise awareness of erotic literature and raise money for Brook – a sexual health education charity. Some of you may be familiar with a C-card? Yes? 😀 A golden credit card you could use to get free condoms! (I did use the service a long time ago so this may have changed – but it was invaluable to me at that time)
|Launching tonight at
the party! All profits to
Please text BKYP14 £5 to 70070 to support this good cause OR buy our book! We’ve made an anthology of writing called An Intimate Education – it will be launched at our big party on Facebook tonight from 7pm GMT. Do come a long – there’s over £1,500.00 worth of very sexy prizes from fabulous sponsors – read the full list on Cara Sutra’s site HERE – I’m giving away my Clockwork Butterfly trilogy too. I’ll have my best dress on and hopefuly there will be a virtual margarita or three!
So I hope you are on Facebook and can make it along to join the fun, celebrate our book launch and win some sexy stuff!
Click HERE for the Facebook PARTY!!
But what about some saucy words to get you in the mood on this inaugural Erotic World Book Day?
Here’s a little snippet froma story in Sexy Just Walked into Town – Francesca’s Mother which is about discovering the joy of erotic books…
I couldn’t help but stare.
She was perfection in her black bikini, standing in front of me in line for the waterslide. From her heels to her calves, all the way up the back of her thighs to the dip and crease of her buttocks, her legs were flawless. Olive, hair free skin had me mesmerized. I was now glad of the long queue which previously had me shivering. With all the self assurance of a foreign exchange student, she gracefully lifted her ponytail and tied it in a knot. I swallowed hard as I caught a glimpse of thick dark hair curling under her arms. My heart leapt and I was instantly thrown back to my youth.
Francesca’s mother was my guilty pleasure. I would stay for long weekends at their house and spend the whole time preoccupied by the huge maternal presence that commanded the family home with gentle force. I would find any excuse to go into the kitchen and watch her knead dough on the antique pine table, her braless breasts swinging and gently slapping together beneath a purple smock dress. She was so mighty and strong and, though I couldn’t name it at the time, sensual. When she moved near me I’d inhale her scent. Underneath the rosemary and garlic, there was something else; something musky and dangerous. It at once attracted and repelled me, but I always filled my lungs with the delicious warmth, seeking that hidden perfume.
“Look at this,” Francesca pulled me into her mother’s bedroom one trip home from college. We sprawled on the bed reading Anais Nin and Nancy Friday books until we could gasp and giggle no more. I read the words, becoming more and more physically turned on. I’d had a few ferociously passionate encounters at college and was no stranger to sex, but I sensed these books were exploring something else too. Something more than the physical. They made me want to be with the mighty woman downstairs.
“I’m just going for a drink,” I told Francesca and rolled off the bed, taking care not to show the damp spot forming in my jeans.
When I got to the kitchen, Francesca’s mother was standing over a huge pot of broth on the stove. Thick meaty smells filled the room, and as she lifted her elbow to stir the great vat, a tuft of glossy black curls sprang into view. I was slightly repulsed but my mouth started watering and warmth and moisture spread between my legs. I sat on a stool and pressed my hands onto my mound, rocking my pelvis into my fists while Francesca’s mother stirred the soup. I came in my jeans just as she tapped the drips off the ladle on the side of the pot.
The atmosphere was charged and I was sure I caught her eyes flit across my tiny hard nipples while she swept away wild peppery hair from her brow with her forearm. I lifted my ribcage and stared at her, daring her to look again, but she didn’t. She turned back to the range and opened the oven door. Steam and the odor of fresh baked bread broke the spell and I hopped off the stool and sped back up to Francesca, at once invigorated and ashamed…
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