She's Madonna...

by Kate Pearce


"I love you baby, but face it she's Madonna, No man on earth could say that he don't want her"
(Robbie Williams gets it right usual)

I first heard of Madonna when I was at college back in the 'eighties'. My best friend from home wrote and told me all about her. In those days we actually wrote letters because there were no mobile phones, email or internets to help us communicate. To be honest I was in my snobby "I don't watch TV I'm an intellectual stage" so I tried to ignore the lure of Madonna, but it didn't last long.

Watching her role around on the stage in her wedding dress was a pivotal (ha ha)moment for me. Here was a woman who was sexy, dirty and not ashamed to show it. I kind of wished I could be more like her but settled for the black lace headband, gloves and black clothes.

Then for a while our paths diverged. I got into marriage and babies and she got into...well everything really. It was kind of like watching a car wreck but I couldn't look away as she pushed every boundary, challenged a few taboos and made a coffee table book that has become a classic. Of course, now days what she expressed doesn't seem half as outrageous as it did then and that's the important thing-she was a pioneer of the beauty of a woman's sexual experience and of how to get on in a still very masculine world.

She won me back with Ray of Light I actually understood what she was trying to say and I actually, god help me, empathized with her. who would've thought it? Part of my own personal philosophy for living comes straight out of a Madonna song Sky fits Heaven-how crazy is that?

Sky fits heaven so fly it
That's what the prophet said to me
Child fits mother so hold your baby tight
That's what my future could see

Fate fits karma so use it
That's what the wise man said to me
Love fits virtue so hold on to the light
That's what our future will be

And that's why I love her. She constantly re-invents herself, she's shown me it's okay to be sexy and how to demand sexual satisfaction and I thank her, I really do...
As she says herself in the song Like it or not

You can call me a sinner
You can call me a saint
Celebrate me for who I am
Dislike me for what I ain't

[Chorus]
This is who I am
You can
Like it or not
You can
Love me or leave me
Cus I'm never gonna stop



And of course, I'm going to finish with a link to my favorite Madonna video, complete with 4 cowboys a horse and Madonna giving me that come hither look she does so well...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L5o5UmeKJ3s

(all lyrics copyright Madonna and Robbie Williams)
also want to apologize for how late this post is...I had a sick 5 yr old

Normal service resumes shortly

Madonna's not here yet - but he is. A Beautiful Stranger. Tied up. Armpits exposed. And in three more seconds, those trousers are probably going to slip.

P.S. Tilly - isn't this the photo taken of Alfie that night in The Silver Collar?

---

Sweeney Todd

by Janine Ashbless

You might have thought that a musical about a 19th Century serial-killer could not be sufficiently sexy to warrant a mention in Lust Bites. But hold on; Sweeney Todd: the Demon Barber of Fleet Street is a movie that stars Johnny Depp and Alan Rickman! It's based on a stage musical by Stephen Sondheim! It's directed by Tim Burton! Honestly, I'm coming right now.


Okay, so Sondheim's work tends to be at the highbrow end of musical theatre, but Sweeney Todd is definitely one of his more accessible pieces. Welcome to filthy, dark, vicious London...

There's a hole in the world like a great black pit,
And it's filled with people who are filled with shit,
And the vermin of the world inhabit it...

Depp plays the eponymous barber who was Transported for Life on a trumped-up charge so that the evil Judge Turpin could have his wicked way with the innocent barber's wife. (The rape scene is implied, not depicted.) He sneaks back to London under a false name and sets out to revenge himself on those who destroyed his family. But so twisted is he by despair and pain that this soon turns into a quest to eliminate the entire male population ... one by one.

They all deserve to die
Tell you why, Mrs. Lovett, tell you why
Because in all of the whole human race Mrs. Lovett,
There are two kinds of men and only two:
There's the one staying put in his proper place
And one with his foot in the other one's face.
Look at me, Mrs Lovett! Look at you!
No, we all deserve to die.
Even you, Mrs Lovett!
Even I!

This is Edward Scissorhands Gone Bad.

Having cut his victims' throats in the barber chair, Sweeney and Mrs Lovett dispose of the bodies by baking them into pies for her shop. Mrs Lovett's wares go from being the Worst Pies in London (cockroach seems to be a significant ingredient) to an overnight culinary sensation (allowing us vegetarians to smirk smugly). But Sweeney's thirst for vengeance is so strong he's even prepared to sacrifice his surviving daughter, and finally it destroys him.

This is of course a gleefully grisly film - though nothing like as grotesque as I was expecting from various snippets of pre-release footage. There are plenty of (not particularly realistic) throat-cutting scenes in the second half of the film, but audience sympathy is pinned firmly to the damaged, broken-hearted Sweeney.

Complaints? Only that the Chorus from the stage version of the musical has been eliminated, so there is a slight feeling of Things Missing if you know the original version - and the most memorable song has gone altogether. You'll just have to put up with me singing it from memory:

Attend the tale of Sweeney Todd:
He served a dark and awful God.
So what if none of their souls were saved? –
They went to their Maker impeccably shaved.

xxx

Janine Ashbless

Simply Sexual

by Kate Pearce

What can I tell you about this book? Firstly, I have no real idea where I got the idea for it from. I remember a few vague thoughts about Turkish pirates, sieges and white slavery and then these 2 characters appeared in my head, one of them complete with a name, which is really weird. So there he was, Lord Valentin Sokorvsky, a Regency noble man and a businessman, looking for a wife.

But I also knew that at the age of 10 he'd been kidnapped along with another boy, by Turkish pirates and sold to a brothel. Not one of those nice Princess and floaty drapery harems, but a place where he and his blond haired companion, Peter Howard are forced to have sex with each other and anyone with the coin to pay for them.

Rescued and returned to England at 18, Valentin has issues-big issues not only with his sexuality but with his best friend Peter, a man he's tied to in many ways. A man who is still in love with him. So the book is about an older Valentin coming to terms with his voracious sexuality in a way that satisfies both his needs and the needs of his new wife, Sara. Throughout most of the book, Val is in major denial about his relationship with Peter and with how he deals sexually with his wife.

Here's an excerpt:

Sara's breathing shortened and Valentin knew she was close to a climax. He pulled back, barely touching her, wanting to see her face in this most intimate moment. He drew back the folds of her dressing gown to expose her breasts and nearly lost what little sense he had left.

Her rose red nipples glinted with gold. He stared at the rings that pierced her sensitive flesh. She flinched as he reached out a finger. With great restraint, he lightly touched the ring. She would be sore for a while. Even more sore if the ring was ripped out, as had happened to him. He still bore the scar on his chest. He traced the warm metal with his tongue and removed his fingers from her pussy.

“Does it still hurt?”

She bit her lip. “A little.”

He licked her nipple as gently as he could and she sighed.

When she healed, he intended to spend a great deal of time lavishing his attention on her breasts. God, it was possible that he’d never let her out of bed again. He cupped her chin and kissed her mouth, giving her a taste of her own pleasure. His cock throbbed. He wanted to be inside her with a primitive urge that shook him to the core.

Still kissing her, he reached down and opened his breeches. His breath hissed between his teeth as his cock sprang out, blindly seeking her. She dragged his breeches down to expose his buttocks and tight balls.

“Oh God, Valentin, I missed you.”

He groaned as her fingernails scraped his skin. Releasing her mouth, he slid back down between her legs and pushed her knees wide with his hips. She’d take his cock now and scream out her pleasure.

Sara quivered as he pushed her hand away from the jade dildo and grabbed the base of his shaft. His cock was bigger than he’d ever seen it before. He guided the massive weeping crown along the lower side of the jade, engorged red flesh to pale green, velvet heat to cream-washed stone. Her sheath swallowed him below the jade.

He waited until her flesh gave willingly and then continued his slow penetration. Sensations exploded over him, the clench of her pussy, the rock hard resistance of the stone above him. He was trapped in an erotic vise of his own making.

“Valentin.” Sara clutched his muscled shoulders, her fingernails digging deep. “Oh. God, I’m going to come.“

He pressed deeper until his balls slapped against her buttocks and held still as she milked his cock with the strength of a ravaging storm. He caught her screams in his mouth, refusing to end the kiss even when she nipped and bit at his lips in the final throes of her climax.

When she finished shaking, he pulled out and removed the jade dildo. He stared down at her beautiful, wet, fuckable pussy. So much for restraint. He was beyond that now and so was she.



It's available from Kensington Aphrodisia and is due out on the 29th, although it has already been spotted in stores. Of course, you can also buy it online at Amazon.com and Amazon uk

What's even more fun is I got to write a companion book "Simply Sinful" which comes out in November, which reverses the focus and gives us Peter Howard's story, complete with his sexual trysts with another man and the man's wife and his take on his complicated relationship with Valentin.

So how do you feel about sexually ambiguous Regency Rakes masquerading as romance heroes?

Comment and you might win your very own copy of my edgy erotic Regency-set novel "Simply Sexual"

Coming Attractions

By Mathilde Madden

Kate Pearce is one of our more prolific Lusties - her four books in a year achievement trumps my much-boasted-about three- so we're double lucky this week as she has found the time to write two posts for us.

On Monday she is here to tell us about her new smutty release Simply Sexual. Then on Wednesday it's crush time and Kate tells us why she loves Madonna.

Friday sees very special guest Alyson Fixter of down and dirty UK women's magazine Scarlet telling us what it is like to read filthy fiction for a living

Don't miss us

Mat x

Smut Slot: The Silver Cage

By Mathilde Madden

And so here we are. Book 3. I really did write three books in a year and on 7th February readers in the UK will be able to buy papery proof.


That cover image looks kind of familiar. I’m sure I’ve seen him before. In a back pain ad. And my hero Alfie who after strutting around like a rakish man-slut for two books now spends this last one having a truly miserable time. And from something far worse than the awful bout of back pain he's having on the cover.

Publishing is a funny business – but never funnier than when you have to write the teaser extract for the back cover before you have written a word of the book. But somehow I got an image of Alfie chained up in a cage with one of his hands broken and his relentlessly miserable whole-book-spent-in-a-cage went from there.

It was Madelynne Ellis who suggested that Alfie and his wayward, stroppy, wolf cub Leon should get tied together. And so it came to pass in this extract where both my alpha werewolves are being held prisoner by the powerful female werewolf The Divine and wicked witch Sabrina

Alfie's wrists were still cuffed behind his back. His cock and nipples were both hard. Hot and tight. He wasn't sure why. When The Divine had Leon trussed she used Alfie to make him stand up. 'Well,' she said, 'I had thought that there was no need to confine you. I thought your loyalty would keep you close to your sire. Obviously that is not the case.'

'Why should I stay here with him,' Leon snarled, low. 'He doesn't care about me.'

'I thought you were proud of what a true wolf you were, Leon,' said Sabrina, pushing away from the wall she was leaning on it and coming close. 'That's how it works. He doesn't care about you – but you care about nothing but him. Even my magic hold over you just isn't strong enough to fight the way you feel about him. It's more than just thrall isn't it, Leon. Does he know?'

And the way Sabrina was smiling. Alfie knew. Knew she knew.

'Fuck off,' Leon said.

'He's in love with me,' Alfie said slowly. 'And yes, I know.'

'Tell him to come into the cage, Alfie,' said The Divine. 'Tell him to come into the cage and lie with you.'

Leon’s eyes went saucer-wide.

Alfie told Leon what to do and he did it.

As Leon's body shifted in the straw next to Alfie's, Alfie saw the fear in Leon's eyes.

The Divine came up close behind them. ‘Well,’ she muttered as she started to tie Leon's ankles to Alfie's, ‘it would seem you are right, Sab. This one is already hard for his sire. And he’s disgusted by it.’ She reached up and chucked Leon under the chin. He tried hopelessly to turn away. ‘You’re disgusted by your own desire, aren’t you cub?’

Leon said nothing. He didn’t meet Alfie’s eye as The Divine then bound them at the knees. She wound more rope around their chests. Leon was a little shorter than Alfie. Only a little. Alfie tried to look into Leon's eyes. He tried to show him something from his sire that would be soothing.

Behind The Divine, Sabrina was laughing. 'Make sure their cocks are close together. Let that pup show his sire how he really feels. It's the only way my magic wouldn't have held him. Filthy cub in love with his wolf-daddy.'

Leon snarled and struggled, but that just made his crotch rub against Alfie's. Alfie could see it in his eyes – he was trying so desperately not to get any harder.

Alfie looked past him at The Divine. 'Move against him,' she said. Alfie pumped his hips.

Leon's cock was obvious. Hard and heavy. Grinding against Alfie's which was already still hard from waking. There was a single layer of denim between then. Leon's jeans. Alfie was still – as always – naked.

'So what now?' The Divine said. She was looking at Sabrina.

'Oh, let's just leave them like that a while. Nice lesson for that pup to give him no choice but to let his sire know just how he feels.'

The Divine said, 'Sounds good to me. And we need to talk anyway. We have things to plan.'

The two women left the cellar, without a backward glance.

Buy The Silver Werewolves books on Amazon UK
Buy The Silver Werewolves books on Amazon US

Check out my Silver Werewolves blog for more

And comment here for a chance to win a set of all three books.

Mat x

Rauxa Prize Celebration

by Shanna Germain

We're celebrating again today at Lust Bites. Why? Well, just because we like to celebrate. I mean, really, good champagne. Decadent chocolate truffles. Naked, well-endowed men. Sexy, curvy women.

What? You don't have chocolate truffles at your celebrations?

Actually we're celebrating because I've just been awarded the Rauxa Prize for Erotic Poetry for my poem, "Ritual." The Rauxa Prize is an annual award given to literary poetry and fiction. Awarded by the Rauxa Foundation (which was founded by Susannah Indigo), the prize has the sole purpose of celebrating erotic writing. Since that's pretty much our sole purpose (and often our soul purpose) here at Lust Bites, it seems like a great place to hold our mid-week, naked celebration.

Of course, you'll want to pop over and read the other winners and runners-up as well. They include some of my favorite sexy pieces this year, including the haunting "The Opposite of Animal" by Ryan Sloan and EllaRegina's story, "The Lonely Onanista."

Just don't forget to come back and celebate (hmm...that's a typo, but I'm going to leave it because it's the perfect combination of celebrate and masturbate)...so, come back and celebate with us! Have a sip of wine, a bite of chocolate and a taste of that sexy man lounging in the corner...

Donna George Storey: A Truly Amorous Woman

Donna George Storey. Just the name alone should be enough to give you quivers of desire. If it doesn’t, then you haven’t read any of her erotica. Storey writes stories and novels that sizzle with sexuality, culture, characters and smarts. From her silky and sensual shorts like Blinded to her newest novel, Amorous Woman, Storey always delivers.

This week, she agreed to take a break from writing and have a little chat with us here at Lust Bites. Even better than that, she’s granted us a peek at something sexy from Amorous Woman--as well as the chance to win a copy of your very own. Your very own copy of the book, not of an amorous woman, of course. (Although, talk to us--we might be able to arrange it).

Welcome Donna. There are so many things we want to know about you, so let’s get right to the questions! You’re known for walking the line between literature and erotica. Can you talk a little about your processes? Are they different to write? The same?

When I write “literary” fiction, I know the editors are going to require that the sex be bad. Bittersweet at best. Seriously, check out the erotic scenes in most contemporary literature. Sex is either boring or neurotic, and can only be enjoyable if it’s adulterous. But when I write erotica I can let loose and celebrate the pleasure and humor and perversity of sex to the utmost. The hands-on research for erotica is also a lot more fun.

However, I’d say there are more similarities than differences between the two genres and they can blend very well. The principles of good storytelling apply to both. You need conflict, complex and interesting characters, vivid detail. A touch of humor doesn’t hurt. Although mainstream publishers assume explicit sexual writing only touches us below the waist, the best erotica--as illustrated by the work of the writers on this site!--arouses the mind as well as the libido. It challenges assumptions. It tells the truth.

That was my goal with my novel, Amorous Woman--tell my truth about a Western woman’s encounter with Japan, and show how her erotic yearnings interplay with the Japanese desire for things Western. The hands-on research for that was pretty enjoyable, too. I actually tried to write a “literary” version of the same story, but it was boring. And neurotic. I had a great time writing the “dirty” version, and I hope that comes through to the reader.

We’re always interested in a "typical day" for a writer. How much time do you spend writing? Do you outline your stories, or do they come to you in flashes of inspiration, or both? What is your favorite part of the writing process...and what part would you love to make disappear?

On a typical day I wake up at about 5:30 am and take a brisk walk. This is when my current set of characters talks to me and tells me what naughty things they’d like to try next. The shower is where I often get my inspiration for new stories, probably due to all that steam and nudity. Then I usually get about three to four hours of actual writing time at my computer. More than that tends to be counter-productive and for some reason I’m more likely to think I’m a no-talent hack in the evening, although I can work at night if I’m under a deadline.

I’m all for baring secrets, so here are my no-fail writing tricks. First I make an “ideas” file for each story, just typing in all the images, snippets of dialogue and a rough outline very freely, while I keep that internal editor bound and gagged in small dark room (he secretly enjoys this). Then I start the first draft by making a copy of a file of a story that did well. You know, one that made a “best of” anthology and was reprinted five times. Superstitious, yes, but can it hurt? At this point I give myself up to the flow of the prose and go where the feelings take me, rather like sex. For the next draft, I generally need some help with details of the erotic action, so I enlist my husband’s cooperation, and then I don’t care if the story gets published because good things have already come of it.

The part I love best about writing is when I’m in the “zone” and lose myself in the story. The part I’d make disappear is the formulaic rejections—“this isn’t for us.” And editors get so huffy when writers use clichés?

Who are some of your favorite contemporary Japanese authors? Which authors do you find most erotic among Japanese writers in the 20th-21st century?

Okay, more revealing confessions! Before writing erotica, I spent about ten years in academia studying mid-20th century Japanese literature, which meant plenty of appropriately depressing literary sex scenes. Although they can be dark and obsessive, I love Tanizaki Jun’ichiro’s novels, especially The Makioka Sisters and Some Prefer Nettles. Nosaka Akiyuki has written some hilarious, if bittersweet sex tales—The Pornographers and “American Hijiki” are two favorites. I also enjoy perusing erotic manga, mainly to learn dirty Japanese words and get a sense of cultural turn-ons. I have a section in Amorous Woman where my protagonist is leafing through comics penned by her best friend and I use the opportunity to describe some common taboos. Nice girls always flush while they’re peeing so others can’t hear, for example. Other popular themes I borrowed are transgressive sex at the office and in the public bath at a hot spring.

S&M and bondage are big, too—a reasonable obsession given the importance of hierarchical relations in Japanese society. One of the many things I love about Japan is the whole-hearted acceptance of sexual fantasy, as long as it’s kept in its place. We seem to be more squeamish about such things in the West.

Oh, and I love shunga, or erotica prints. Here’s one of my favorites--“Autumn Moon of the Mirror Stand” by my favorite artist Suzuki Harunobu. No huge genitals here, just elegance and subtlety. Check out what the samurai is doing with his hands.

Is your fabulous last name a nom de plume or were you destined to be a writer from the day you were born?

I don’t use a pseudonym. It’s part of my lifelong mission to make erotica a respectable endeavor for a nice girl like me. (Well, not too respectable). “Storey” is my husband’s last name and I added it because I was tired of having a boy’s first name as my last name. But I think it was destiny. He’s a wonderful partner and an inspiration. And very cool about enduring those crème de menthe blow jobs for my latest story.

What do you read for inspiration?

I’ll pick up the latest Cleis anthology or peruse the latest on Clean Sheets. If I’m feeling nostalgic, I’ll dig back into the past for some Diane di Prima or a naughty Victorian tale. Those always get the juices flowing.

What's next for you?

I’m currently plotting out my second novel, an erotic romance that is a peek through the bedroom keyhole of American history in the 20th century. There’s something sexy about those more repressed times and I’ll pay homage to Sally Rand, the famous 1930s burlesque dancer, Bettie Page and camera clubs in the 1950s, John Updike’s spouse-swapping suburbia and lots more. The research for this one should be fun, too.

Out of all your work, you have a favorite character or story that you've written? Can you talk about how it came about or the inspiration behind it?

The heroine of Amorous Woman, Lydia, is definitely my favorite character because I’ve spent so much time with her. She’s wilder than I am, but we have more in common than I’d planned. Her story is borrowed from a Japanese classic about a sexually insatiable woman who experienced every type of pleasure 17th-century Japan had to offer, but a lot of my experiences in Japan—the texture, if you will--found their way into the final draft. Amusingly enough, by the end of the novel-writing process, Lydia and a few other characters were telling me what they were and weren’t going to do next. I like cheeky characters who don’t follow the rules!

You promised us a look at that cheeky character of yours, so upcoming is an excerpt from Amorous Woman. Anything we should know beforehand?

The following scene takes place in a traditional hot spring bath in the mountains of Gunma prefecture—a real inn I’ve visited several times where I really feel in touch with the heart of old Japan. In the midst of this beauty and purity, Lydia is unfaithful to her husband for the first time with an anthropology professor. Naughty professors often appear in my stories. This one is very naughty and he turns the tables nicely—instead of having his student lick his ass, he licks hers!

Thanks Donna. It’s been great having you. Now, on to a sexy bit from Amorous Woman!

I suppose you could call it sorcery, the way my flesh suddenly seemed to soften and flow, transforming me from a good wife—although was I ever truly a “good” wife to Yuji?—into a silky, sinuous seductress. With a provocative smile, I inched the bathing towel slowly over my chest, rising up just far enough that my breasts floated like white lilies on the surface of the water. My nipples immediately tightened in the cool air.
The professor stared, as if his eyes were bound to the movement of my hands with steel cable. I’d forgotten how much I loved to have a man in my power.
I took my breasts in both hands, lifting them in offering.
He swallowed visibly.
At first, I was just showing off for him, rolling my nipples between my fingers, licking my thumbs to stroke them over the sensitive tips. But soon enough, I let one hand creep between my legs beneath the cover of the water, just as if he’d never come to interrupt me. Except, of course, there was a real man sitting across from me, his face suspended in the ghostly vapors hovering over the bath. From his hooded eyes and faint grimace, I knew he was touching himself, too, lost in his own dream.
“Will you touch me?” I asked in English, the language of selfishness.
The professor’s face twisted into a frown. He wanted to touch me, I could tell, but something held him back. Was it professional ethics or some less lofty obligation like a wife? I decided not to ask.
“It is best….” He swallowed again. “…If I do not.”
But I thought it best he did.
I rose to my feet, the water gliding from my body like a silk robe. My skin tingled from mild sting of the wintry air, but inside I was still warm from the long soak, my flesh plumped, glowing, hungry.
The professor’s eyes widened and leapt toward me, but his body remained frozen in place.
On impulse, I turned and bent over the edge of the bath, doggy-style, a primal position most men found irresistible.
I glanced back over my shoulder. As if drawn by leash, he moved closer.
I had, finally, made him an offer he couldn’t refuse.

You can buy Amorous Woman in the UK at Amazon, Blackwell and some Waterstones bookstores. It will be released in the US in June 2008, but Donna has copies available through her web site. To enter to win a copy, leave a comment in the post. Who knows? You might end up with your very own Amorous Woman!

Hot man angst, or why I love yaoi.

by Madelynne Ellis

Many moons ago, in a bar in Birmingham a certain werewolf loving Lustie twisted my arm and said: “You are going to write about yaoi, aren’t you Madelynne.” And seeing as my arm was being twisted, and quite painfully I might add, I agreed.

Well, you know what, I lied.

This post is going to teach you very little about yaoi. It is in fact a really cheap excuse to post lots of pictures (like this one) of yummy bishonen getting it on with one another, and maybe
I’ll make a few remarks in the background. I mean, you didn’t actually want me to give you a pronunciation lesson (that’s Yah-oh-ee BTW), or warble on about what exactly yaoi is or isn’t and how it differs from slash, gay fiction, or even slash masquerading as ersatz yowie. And I’m quite sure you don’t want to read all about its convoluted history from its underground doujinshi roots to its increasing presence in the west. If you do, check out here and… erm here. Meanwhile, I’m just going to hang around a bit and enjoy the view.



Ah, boy! Long flowing locks just does it for me every time, and I love the whole hair over the eyes thing. Actually, these men just have lovely eyes, and the sort of eyelashes that women can only achieve with that super-curly-extendy-turn-your-eyelashes-into-hairy-spiders mascara. Oh, and look at these butts, so tight and firm you just want to dig your fingers in and have a nice big grope.


I realise I might be giving you the wrong idea here. I mean it’s not all about the sex and man oogling. It’s the soap opera angst that gets me too. I mean how am I supposed to resist pages of heartbreakingly beautiful men engaging in complex, romantic and exceptionally torturous relationships…

…with the occasional bit of bondage thrown in too.


The answer is, I can’t.

I will point out that I’m actually very picky when it comes to my yaoi choices. For all their beauty, I like my men to look and act like adults, which can be a problem when there’s a whole slew of stuff set in high schools and colleges. The only exception I’ve made to this so far is by Korean manhwa artist Sooyeon Won, and let me tell you, Let Dai is exceptional. It’s dark, it’s cold, it’s cruel and completely brutal.

Sensitive Jaehee has to deal with his feelings for the dangerous, disturbingly attractive and sociopathic Dai, following his girlfriend’s brutal assault by Dai’s gang.



Perhaps not a good starting recommendation, but then most of my favourite titles lean heavily to the dark side.

Okay, try Yellow, Makoto Tateno, or Ai No Kusabi (yaoi anime based on a novel). The premise of Yellow is simple, two guys, one’s gay, one’s straight, and they both have some serious baggage to work through. It’s fun, it’s edgy, and some of the situations just had me squirming in delight. These guys are seriously cool, and yet it somehow manages to be romantic as well.


Ai No Kusabi is set in a futuristic world with a strict caste system and an almost exclusively male population. It’s considered something of a masterpiece, combining a complicated plot with scorching sex, angst, bdsm and truly poignant tragedy.


Other recommendations include: Fake by Matoh Sanami, Antique Bakery, Fumi Yoshinaga (complete with scratch and sniff covers), & Gorgeous Carat by You Higuri. Also, yaoi interactive novel Animamundi (read my review here).


Oh, and absolutely don’t forget my very own yaoi inspired erotica, Dark Designs, winner of Scarlet Magazine’s Best Male-Male Sex Scene Award in 2007.

I'll leave you with one final picture.

Madelynne Ellis

PS: Please share your recommendations and or comment on your favourite image.
PPS: Go check out my newly revamped website too.

Coming Attractions

At Lust Bites we love many different things -men, bondage, enormous golden cocks, spanking, Gerald Butler - but one thing we pretty much all adore is male/male action. Can there ever be too much?

Well, no, obviously. Which is why Madelynne Ellis is here on Monday to talk about Yaoi. The Japanese comic books that have made male/male erotica for women into a unique artform

Wednesday sees the return of the Lust Bites interview as Shanna Germain meets author Donna George Storey

And on Friday, well, would you know what I meant if I just said Grrrrr!

Mathilde Madden x

Where the Magic Happens

I’m sure you all have a picture in your head of us Lusties, chained to our desks, slaving away. I’m sure you think it’s all champagne and sex toys, as we lounge in lingerie and write with fountain pens before being distracted by our boy toys (or girl toys) who come to give us massages.

Sometimes, this is true.

But most of the time, alas, there is another scenario in which we find ourselves….

A deadline looms. It’s way past our bedtimes, and our boy and girl toys are languishing alone in our beds. Their mournful calls fall on deaf ears. Instead, we’re typing frantically, vaguely nauseated from too many cups of tea or coffee. Our desks look like an office-supply store exploded. Our eyes burn; our fingers ache—will we ever be able to grasp a vibrator again?

The truth is, we Lusties are a varied lot, as proven by our writing spaces. Nine of us have bravely taken pictures of our work areas, mess and all.

Here’s the game: Can you guess which Lustie works in which space? Your choices are Dayle A. Dermatis, Kate Pearce, Janine Ashbless, Madeline Moore, Madelynne Ellis, Olivia Knight, Portia da Costa, Shanna Germain, and Teresa Noelle Roberts….


Workspace 1
This is my office. But I can't work there... Could anybody?


Workspace 2
Yes, I write in bed! (Desks give me backache.) Note essential author's equipment: laptop, mug of tea, copy of Writing the Breakout Novel by Donald Maass, and two dogs.


Workspace 3
This is my desk. On it I have a bobble head Nora Roberts (signed) so that when I ask her a question she always answers me. Also a Jane Austen action figure, complete with lap desk and quill pen! Underneath the desk on the red silk cushion is my pampered dog, Hunter, a King Charles Cavalier spaniel.


Workspace 4
This is one of the smallest workspaces I’ve ever had, but the one at which I’ve been most productive. You will see hard copy of my latest manuscript. (I prefer to do my first draft on the computer, then print and work from hard copy, then type the final draft on the computer.) I have all my essentials close by: glasses, a can of diet Schweppe’s Ginger Ale, a Dictionary of Sex, some Rub-A535, hand lotion, and gum. The bulletin board is papered equally with important information and my favorite celebrities, including Ms. Joni Mitchell. There are pieces of paper everywhere but the actual message holder, that weird metal spiral thing, is empty.


Workspace 5
My three cats (two are shown in the picture) boast a total weight of 45 pounds and any one of them, let alone two or more, takes up more than the area on my desk available for sprawling kitties while I'm actually working. Unfortunately they like my desk. A lot. And they're so darn cute that it's sometimes hard to boot them off so I can, for instance, get to my keyboard.


Workspace 6
I bought this treadmill specifically for its wide, flat handles, and then I Velcroed an old shelf across the handles as a makeshift desk. The laptop sits on top, and has its own bit of Velcro to keep it anchored. It's best for emailing and editing (I edit by ear, so I often plug my headphones into the laptop and listen as Word reads my work back to me), and if I go too fast, the keyboard gets all sweaty, and not in a sexy way.


Workspace 7
I do have a proper desk, honest! It has all my books on it, well, apart from the ones on the sofa, obviously. Quit smirking. You almost got a picture of my bath, which is where I write all my best stuff.


Workspace 8
I'm as likely to have a glass of wine at hand as I am a cup of tea, but I really do love having candles lit. I admit it: I'm a romantic at heart. Then again, the small calendar above the mousepad depicts penises from famous Italian statuary…. Guess I'm also a mass of contradictions!


Workspace 9
The real world is inside the computer, but all the essentials surround it. The oil is a mix of patchouli, mandarin and pine; the incense is sandalwood—these ingredients vary for each story. The notes are for “The Three Riddles” in the Enchanted novella collection—if you look closely, you can make out the heading “The first riddle.”

I won something!

Cool news!

"Where have all the Cowboys gone?" won a 2007 Reviewers Choice award from cataNetwork. I didn't get anything quite as magnificent as a golden cock, but I did get a logo to show off on my website.

Crush Wednesday: Lusting after the Lambda Male

by Anne Tourney

This isn't just a crush -- it's a manifesto. Not to diss the Alpha Males that make many of you so hot and bothered, but I'm here today to speak up for every horny foot soldier who never showed up for the battle because he was back in the tent practicing his cunnilingual skills on some mighty warrior's concubine.

So you've never heard of that elusive species, the Lambda Male? Probably because he's hiding behind a frieze of networking cables or a stack of amplifiers, or just wandering around a parking lot trying to figure out where he left the van he's living in until he sells his first collection of poetry (even then, let's face it, he'll still be in the van). In a discussion of hero archetypes at All About Romance, a group of romance reviewers and authors discussed the fine distinctions among Alpha, Beta, and Gamma Males. Alphas are the traditional heroes: strong, dominant, with a natural inclination to protect and rescue, when they aren't conquering and beheading. Deltas (the dangerous heroes) and Thetas (the wounded heroes) also come up in the discussion, but no one mentions my favorite: the Lambda Male.

Lambda is my all-purpose category for nerds, geeks, and misfits -- in short, guys who are too strange, too smart, too nice, or all of the above. If you peer back into the annals of classic American cinema, you can't miss the 1984 movie Revenge of the Nerds. Lambda Lambda Lambda was the brotherhood of outcasts caught in a dualistic struggle against a fraternity of hunky jocks, Alpha Beta. I'll never forget the immortal line uttered by Robert Carradine's character, Lewis Skolnick, when he was asked by his blonde cheerleader lover why he was so good in bed: "All jocks think about is football. All nerds think about is sex."

And for me, that's a big part of the Lambda Male's appeal, aside from his vulnerability, his quirkiness, and his mismatched socks: a constant preoccupation with all things erotic. Not that Alpha Males don't think about sex, but there are too many other things that clutter their leonine heads, like winning the Super Bowl, or saving the world. All that heroic activity prevents them from focusing on the most important thing on earth, which is, of course, right between your . . . eyes. Yes, Lambda Males are interested in your brains, too. They like to know what you're thinking. They might even (gasp) ask you what you're thinking, or reading, or listening to on your iPod.

If you doubt my enthusiasm for Lambda Males, here's a roll call of the "heroes" in my recent novels: Jeremy, the bipolar art geek who falls madly in love with his therapist (Taming Jeremy); Daniel, the has-been rock guitarist who drives across the West in search of the Epiphone that inspired him when he was fifteen years old (Head-On Heart); and Joel, the womanizing photographer who 's always stumbling over his own, uhm, tripod (Lying in Mid-Air). Then there's Nolan, the hero of my most recently hatched novel, Kiss Between My Lines. Nolan works as a clerk at the public library, while secretly inflicting his vision of "information anarchy" on the world by shelving all of the books out of order. On his nights off, he works the lights over a mosh pit. Nolan never ends up saving the world, but he does save the heroine from a life without orgasms.

These guys aren't just outsiders; they're so far off the radar screen that they don't even have checking accounts. Not only do they not drive racecars, a lot of them take public transportation. And God forbid they should work for the DEA; Lambda Males are more likely to be found firing up a bong than shooting up a crackhouse. Not that Lambdas aren't heroic, or brave, or bursting with testosterone . . . well, maybe they aren't. Maybe they're just slightly below average oddballs, with an intensity that makes them sexy, and a self-deprecating attitude that makes them irresistible. These are the sweet, skinny guys who wore Iron Maiden t-shirts in high school and smoked Camels behind the gym, then went home to practice the oboe in secret. They're the guys in the next cubicle at work who write you epic love poems that you'll probably never read. They're passionate about something -- an eccentric idea, a top-secret software program, the lyrics to the song that's going to make the world forget "Stairway to Heaven" (oh please, someone write that one soon). But most of all, they're passionate about you.

So now we come down to the nitty gritty, the question that underlies all this discussion: Come on, Anne, aren't these guys just garden variety losers? I mean, they don't actually win anything. They don't really rescue anyone. Most of the time, they can't even walk a city block without their shoes coming untied.

My answer is yes, on the spectrum of masculine sexuality, Lambda Males are definitely on the "loser" end, opposite the muscle-bound Alphas. But in my opinion, that only suggests that the spectrum of masculine sexuality needs to broaden its array of colors.

Here are just a few of my favorite Lambda Males. Who are yours?

Robert Carradine: The quintessential Lambda Male cleans up very nicely

Screenwriter/Actor Mike White, who wrote my favorite
Lambda Male movie of all time: The Good Girl


Jake Gyllenhaal: As the tormented novelist/poet/playwright/cashier
Holden Worther in The Good Girl, he's the ultimate Lambda Male

Jason Mraz: See, he washed the t-shirt in the same load of laundry as the hat

Joaquin Phoenix: Lambda-esque actor playing Johnny Cash,
who was somewhat of a Lambda with a heavy dose of Delta

Kevin Spacey: a Lambda Male who had the
last laugh as "Verbal" in The Usual Suspects