For On Estancia
My Dulcet Anastasia
As you can see my Dragon software translates your name as On Estancia is. I am seriously considering putting you in my next book under that name. Of course, you probably won’t want to be my next book because it has dirty words and such.
I’m so pleased to be on Fika which I tend, erroneously, to write more acronymically (FIKA) than Scandinavianly. Fika is a cool drink of water for me because I’m tired of plugging my book THE COACH HOUSE which—an affordably priced novella which is delightfully erotic-ish romance with a cat, vampire, English prof, and index—is old news now that it’s been in the world these past 32.3 days.
Besides, I prefer to plug other people’s books. Anyone as shy and retiring as I am really prefers to stay out of the limelight and tend to one’s knitting and self-chastisement. I think we all know by now that Sophie is really not much more than the sweetest shy dormouse. Petite. Hairy-faced. Cute as a button and prone to nibbling Elves bottoms.
But this is neither about me nor THE COACH HOUSE qua THE COACH HOUSE which can’t be found here. Nor here. Or was it not here as well? But rather, Fika today is about the inner shy dormouse me who finds it really hard to write naughty words and post them on her blog (even as her other pseudonym) but who wrote a dirty book finally after years of psychotherapy only to be conditionally accepted, edited, and rejected.
As many of you know, THE COACH HOUSE was de-spanked, thanks to an ongoing round of emails and discussions and edits oh my! starting in 2007 (I think). Nonetheless, I wanted to share something I wrote that did not have dirty words (respecting my lovely hostess)—which I write, ad nauseam, every other day for the unsung (mercifully) part of my day job which shall not be mentioned.
But soft! Just to clarify, as Fika is NOT about plugging one’s book, this excision/excerpt should surely fill the bill of not self-promoting. The point is to amuse and not use dirty words.
This what I sent to a miscellaneous editor AFTER being told THE COACH HOUSE was too “out there” with spankings and could I please tone it down a bit. Yes, my response was a bit of a chuck-you and yes, it was so-received (she never played racquetball with me again). This was sent after nearly a year of hokey-pokey edits, revisions, and deletions. I finally had had the proverbial biscuit and took the naughty words out.
With no further ado (ugh), this is NOT from THE COACH HOUSE which is not available here. I won’t gloss the text here because we’re a fairly erudite bunch.
Daniil’s unhumanly hands, roughened by centuries of toil and exercise impatiently sought her womanly region which was already misting with pleasure long-anticipated. Panting like a wolf on a cold October night after howling at a full moon although he was a vampire and not a werewolf, Daniil tore open his blue Oxford silk shirt and deftly, without thought, unbuckled his belt, flinging himself on her human form, the only one she had as she unlike he was fully human although there was a time he was human but that was long-since past like his need to trim his hair or tend to other such forms of toilette. He was desperate to have her desire meet his in a greeting of mutual attraction and delight.
Nearly breathless in his yearning to touch her curvaceous torso which ended in long legs not unlike the legs one sees on a very beautiful Greek statue, but not so white as his because he was a vampire and she, a delicious mortal human woman, as warm as they come, he leant forward. Moving her gently rounded hips provocatively, Carys whispered as timidly as a Tittle mouse, “Kiss me, Daniel. Kiss me my love.” His full and sensuous lips swiftly answered her softly spoken request. To her delight his velvet and probing tongue was firm and assured, although a tad cold due to his lack of circulation, but that in itself had a relief for her lust-heated body.
Daniil kissed her deeply, ardently, as though he might swallow her if he was so inclined but really he just drank blood. Had he been the werewolf to whom I alluded above, our plucky heroine may have been in trouble. She allowed his tongue to carry her into a purely sensual world of tingles hitherto inexperienced, as the kisses of her fiancé Steve repulsed her in their dead-fishlike quality.
I apologize that I did not save the original in which Daniil and Carys had a little spanking tete-a-tete. She ditches dull-as-dishwater Steve in favour of some lusty vampire tush-tapping. I had no inkling that six years later, memory sticks would be cheap and I would have found a little home, perhaps at Blushing, for my wee book. THE COACH HOUSE stands as it does today, a fun novella with some cheeky tidbits and a modicum of naughty words which would have Ana put me in the naughty corner sans Elf. The index was just for people like me who hate to waste their erotic reading time waiting for the “good stuff”. Oh, and the house porn. Did I mention the “house porn” as we call it was foisted upon me? I have 8,000 words of décor just rotting on a floppy somewhere. But who cares? I didn’t the first time.
Don’t buy my book. There’s no spanking at all. The next, we’ll see. As I am fornicated out these days, I’m working on mystery or comedy or both once Neurotica is done. My newest hero is the cross-dressing fire-fighting Chesty Leathertush who may or may not be prone to bumping off little old ladies. But that’s another blog for another day.
Ana, forgive this poor Elf tormenter for rambling.
Or not. Spankings are erotic in this house.
I write romance, comedy, and erotica for the self-loathing.
I am proud to the Book section and Blog editor for Evolvedworld.com, as well as a regular writer and blogger there.
I grok cats, chocolate, and sleeping in. My other bicycle (I have a red Bianchi) is a car.