Me and Alan Titchmarsh

We rub shoulders now and again, y'know. What with our common interests in gardening and smut, it's hardly surprising - oh, wait, I don't garden. Well, OK, we don't really get together that often, I suppose. Except when we're in the same Press Release together! And when that Press Release is about MY NEW BOOK! Waaah!

In the words of the PR:

"Adam Nevill, newly recruited ex-Black Lace editor has doubled the Xcite list for 2010 to 26 books. New signings for Autumn 2010 include novels from Chloe Thurlow, K D Grace, Charlotte Stein and a short story collection from Justine Elyot. "These are four of the most exciting new names in modern British erotica, who have made a real impact in print erotica within the last few years," said Nevill.

The Xcite Books range was recently featured on the Alan Titchmarsh Show with sex expert Julie Peasgood. The company are exhibiting at Erotica 09 at Olympia from 20th – 22nd November 2009."

Good Lord, Xcite Books are fast movers! I had barely had five minutes to admire my new contract before my editor was emailing me a link to this story! It's rather reassuring, I must say, after months of tick following tock following tick following tock.

Huge congratulations to Chloe Thurlow, K D Grace and, most especially (with lashings of thanks on top for brow-soothing services rendered), Charlotte Stein.

Anyway, yes, the new book is out in Autumn 2010, so I'd better get cracking. 'Let's get mucky' as Gordon the Garden Gnome (voiced by Mr Titchmarsh) might say.

*I'd also love to know if 'sex expert Julie Peasgood' is the same person who played Barry Grant's girlfriend in Brookie.

Away With the Fairies

I'm not usually one for ponytails on a man, but I'd make an exception for this dude. The whole cover is ravishing, which is one more reason to be over the moon that I'm included in this gorgeous anthology - the terrific erotica writer Kristina Wright's first time in the editor's chair.

My story is called Three Times, and is a bit of departure for me, having a fantasy setting (yeah, I know, cos my usual stuff is, like, so realistic...) with princesses and woodsmen and magical plants and suchlike.

I can't wait to see what the other contributors' takes on the theme will be - erotic fairy tales have really caught the popular imagination of late. In fact, I'd say they were the new black - but I'm told that that's spanking ;).

Anyway, the collection is published by Cleis and will be out in Spring 2010 - look out for the striking cover and be swept away to fairyland.

The End Is The Affair

No more Quickies. No more Wicked Words. No more Sex with Strangers, in Public, in a Shopping Trolley on Your Hols, or any of the various configurations. No more Seduction, Liaisons, Misbehaviour, or Sexy Little Numbers.

It ends with an affair. The Affair, in fact - the final multi-author anthology from the monolith of reading pleasure that is Black Lace.

My story in this book is called The Interview, and here is a taster for your palates:

"Unlike the ruthlessly clean-shaven Ralph, Aaron has a trace of stubble and I find I want to rub my face against his sandpapery skin, rub him on to me. His lips are firm, his breath warm, his body warm, his embrace firm, all firm and warm; it is comforting first, then it is arousing. He allows his hands more license, letting them wander all over me, down to my hips and across my bottom, then his fingers walk slowly up my spine, finally grazing the nape of my neck until I feel ready to kiss harder and longer and fuller.

I try to push him, try to crush him but it is deliciously difficult to make any impact on that hard flesh; I try to devour his mouth with my tongue but he just captures it and beats me at my own game. I try to merge into him, to force myself through his pores, but the bruising bulge beneath his midriff keeps our centres apart. Sooner or later it is going to demand attention in no uncertain terms, and now is as good a time as any.

‘I want to take off your underpants,’ I say hoarsely, gasping for air.

‘Good.’

I unveil the beast, which is large, maybe larger than Ralph’s, though I’m no judge – I rarely look it in the eye. I flinch and look up into Aaron’s eyes again.

‘Don’t you like it?’

‘I…I’m sure it’s…very nice.’

‘Nice? No, Jacqueline, it’s not nice. It’s a greedy selfish bastard that will ride roughshod over you to get what it wants. It’ll make you feel good, but so does cocaine, and nobody says cocaine is nice.’

‘I’m sorry. I’ve said the wrong thing. I don’t know what I should say.’

‘You don’t have to say anything yet. Touch it. Find your way around.’

The surrealism of the situation is not lost on me. Adonis stands bare-naked in my living room and I’m worrying about the etiquette of handling his…um…you know.

I put out a hand and tap the side of it. It is hard and stiff and springs back to attention straight away. There is a bead of moisture at its head. I still can’t look it in the eye and I blur my vision a little, avoiding its frank stare. My fingers drift downwards, outlining the heavy sacs beneath, then weighing them in my palm.

‘Grab it. It won’t break,’ urges Aaron. I hesitate, so he takes hold of my wrist and moves my hand back to the shaft, prompting me to wrap my fingers around its girth. I find I quite like the feel of it; the skin is velvety and malleable, even as it stands proud, and my hand spans it comfortably. I begin to stroke it, trying not to loosen my grip, moving my other hand down to squeeze the sac.

I look up to see that he has shut his eyes and thrown back his head; an encouraging sign, so I speed up a little. His eyes open and he coughs a little before saying, ‘Perhaps you should taste it too.’

‘Taste it?’

‘Yeah. But you have to ask me. Ask if you can suck it for me.’

‘I can’t!’

‘You can. Just say it! Don’t think about it.’

‘I…can I…no, I can’t.’

My hand seizes up and I look away, feeling tears well up. Why can’t I just say the words?"

Will she be able to say the words? You'll have to read the rest of the story to find out!

But don't just read mine! There is plenteous treasure behind the cover lady's lavender shift dress - treasure that includes: Charlotte Stein; Elizabeth Coldwell; Portia Da Costa; Kyoko Church; Shanna Germain; Primula Bond; Rachel Kramer Bussel; Janine Ashbless; Gwen Masters; Alegra Verde; Izzy French and K D Grace.

Pretty Lady

Isn't she a stunner? I badly want that feathery corset she's wearing too.

After a lengthy news drought, I can now tell you that I have a story in the awesome Rachel Kramer Bussel's upcoming anthology Please, Sir - tales of male dominance and female submission. Having seen the line-up today I am both impressed and thrilled by the company I'm keeping between those covers.

Another thrilling thing about it is that my story, Sunday in the Study, features some characters who might be quite familiar to those of you who followed Lecture Notes. I can't believe those guys have made it into print (though Sinclair isn't at all surprised).

The book comes out in May 2010 and is already available for pre-order from Amazon.com here.

Kindle A Flame

Any Kindlers in the house? I ask because I have just realised that Ultimate Decadence is available in the Kindle format from amazon.com - look here!

And while I'm on the subject, I am mortified to realise that I haven't posted up a snippet of my story in that collection, Blind Man's Buff, yet. So here is one:

"I am aware of the bodies before I reach them; there is warmth and scent heralding their physical presence. If I do not like the smell, I try to elude them, but this one is peaches, lovely ripe delicate peaches. Or nectarines. When I catch her she laughs, low and mellifluous, and strokes my hair. She is about my height, and her touch as she unhooks my basque is exquisite.

‘Oh, look, they are standing up for me!’ Warm merriment in her voice, bathing me. Then she is pulling me back against her body – her dress is silk – and pinching at my nipples, demonstrating for the room. ‘Look at these pretty things, everyone.’ She reaches down to unsnap my stockings, then removes them. Her hair tickles my bottom and thighs and there is sweet breath on my skin. Once the hosiery is removed, she drops a gentle kiss on the inside of one thigh, then stands back up and repeats the action on the back of my neck. ‘Pretty things,’ she repeats, crooning it into my hair.

‘Put her down, Saskia,’ says Gil indulgently and, to the accompaniment of sighs, I am released once more, to pad about the room in no more than my thong. Their voices are giving away their location now, for they have broken into conversation, and their conversation is about me – or rather my breasts, and my bottom, and the curve of my hips and the tone of my skin.

‘You’re a lucky man, Gil.’

‘She is built for pleasure.’

‘Made for fucking.’

‘The perfect little slut.’

I twist this way and that, in between the sound waves they produce, until eventually I trip over a shoe – a man’s shoe, perhaps a brogue – and stumble into him.

‘Oh, I have hit the jackpot!’ he proclaims. ‘Let’s get these knickers off then. Such as they are.’

His thumbs settle inside the elastic, resting there for a while, snug against my hipbones, then he begins to ease them down, very slowly, very deliberately. He runs a finger down the string, releasing it from its captivity in my arse crack, then he chuckles – I knew he would – when my pubic hair is revealed.

‘That’s sweet,’ he says. ‘A heart shape. Look at this.’ He hurries to get the flimsy things off me so he can show my clipped, shaped mons to the world. There is a rumble of laughter and some clapping.

‘There now, ladies and gentlemen,’ says Gil. ‘Your gift is unwrapped. It is now up to you to enjoy it. Catch her and you may use her in any way you wish – short, as we have established, of penetrative sex.’ His voice is getting closer, he is almost beside me. ‘Are you ready, Venetia?’ His hand brushes my cheek. I nod. ‘Then let the real game begin.’"

Champion

Damn, I wish I could be in Leeds. Or thereabouts, at least.

From time to time, my fellows in Black Lace like to meet up and discuss the type of things we discuss. Mysterious and secret things, my friends, wicked and wanton things. Such as jelly snakes and Vincent d'Onofrio. But alas, I live in an obscure part of the country from which Barcelona is literally more accessible than Barnsley, so I have had to forego these excursions so far.

But I have been wondering lately why is it that so many fabulous erotica writers hail from Yorkshire? Is it the windswept moors, the rugged coast, the earthy honesty, the Tetleys Bitter? Because Portia Da Costa, Janine Ashbless, Charlotte Stein and Saskia Walker, to name but four, all pen their exquisite words from the various Ridings. Oh, is it because they're called Ridings? That's quite sexy, in a way. And I'd bet money that, were Charlotte or Emily (maybe not Anne) to materialise in 2009, they'd be writing hawt scenes in the heather like nobody's business, up there in the vicarage in Haworth.

So...any theories? What are they putting in the teabags? I need to know!





















(Of course, it could be all the eye candy.)

Lecture Notes Chapter 19

Fin.