Southern Spirits: Product of a One-Track Mind

Have you ever sat on a train, felt its powerful, relentless rhythm drive through you? Ever fantasise about having sex onboard - or even do it? Ever wonder if anyone else did too, willed on perhaps by the spirit of the train....

My second Black Lace novel, Southern Spirits, has now been released in the US as well as the UK, and is set aboard the Silver Belle, a luxury train ala the Orient Express, but travelling through the most isolated places of America's Deep South as a mobile club, where its exclusive members get to indulge in their deepest, wildest fantasies, and anything goes...

The Silver Belle and its owner, career criminal Jack Wheeler, comes under the scrutiny of Federal tax agent Catalina "Cat" Montoya. She's young, ambitious, and eager to become an undercover agent. But on her first assignment, she is reluctantly partnered with Nathan Ames, an older, more experienced (in so many ways!) agent - and a man with whom she once had a secret office fling:

‘And what about you, Hound? Am I way out of your league, too? Maybe you shouldn’t even bother trying…’
Now Nathan stepped forward, his hands on her hips. ‘Honey, the one thing you can know about me is that if I go to Hell, it won’t be for not trying…’ And they were kissing again, this time with his hand sliding up between them, gently but insistently cupping one of her breasts through the material of her dress, his moans into her mouth confirming his delight.
He helped set her ass on the edge of the desk, her head dipping back as she stared upwards. His lips moved down along her smooth olive skin, reaching up and skilfully slipping one shoulder strap down, working on the soft flesh above her lacy bra, licking and sucking on it, biting it so softly and growling. Cat’s body shook as he then slipped her breast from her bra, licking around the sensitive nipple, and she rode the sheer sensation of pleasure she was feeling through her body. Still kissing her, Nathan moved his hands to her hips and slid down along the soft fabric of her dress, dipping beneath the hem to touch her stockinged thighs.
Cat moaned aloud, gasping, but still asked him, ‘And what part of me do you think is my best feature?’
Almost before she realised it, he was easing her back, onto her elbows, raising and parting her legs while still supporting them, and drawing up the hem of her dress. His voice was a whiskey purr. ‘When I’ve sampled them all, I’ll tell you.’
Cat leaned back further as he disappeared under her dress, and she felt his hands, his head, moving up between her thighs. Her breath quickened as she felt his breath through her silk thong onto her pussy, and her pulse skipped a beat when she felt his fingers draw aside the strip of fabric barely covering her sex...

Having to pose with Nathan as a couple on board the Silver Belle,
Cat finds herself fighting to stay professional, to not let her continuing, growing hunger for him overwhelm her judgement. They have the flirtatious I Hate You, I Love You by-play of all the great screen couples from Spencer Tracy and Katharine Hepburn through Moonlighting's David and Maddie, and on to those other mismatched Special Agents, Mulder and Scully.

And you know, sometimes words aren't enough when you're lying next to a man you shouldn't want, but do... so you find any excuse, just like a drunken Cat, tempting Nathan away from his call back to base...

He was rising to his knees when Cat pulled him into a kiss, swooping on him and pulling him so that he practically fell on top of her. They struggled, until he pinned her arms above her head. ‘Damn it, Cat, stop this right now or-’
'Or what, you fucking puta-’
He kissed her, ostensibly just to shut her up, though still savouring the feel of his lips on hers, and the heat of her mouth as his tongue explored it. She moaned into his mouth, and ground her thigh against the lust-stiffened cock still restrained within his clothes. He tasted her desire, as strong as the alcohol on her breath.
It was that reminder that made him pull from her mouth. ‘Ca-Cat, no-’
She looked up at him from the bed, from under heavy lids. ‘Damn it Nathan, say yes. I am as horny as you. I think maybe we just need to fuck and get it out of our system. Otherwise we won’t be able to do our jobs.’
‘Uh, you guys know I’m still on the line, don’t you?’
Grimacing, Nathan reached out, lifted the phone long enough to say, ‘Call you in the morning,’ before hanging up and tossing it to the nearby couch. ‘Awww, Lord...’

And it's a fight which isn't helped by her need to get close to the charismatic Jack Wheeler, who has designs of his own on her:

Cat felt her head spinning despite his touch. ‘Well? Aren’t you gonna go ahead and kiss me?’
‘One doesn’t just jump into these things,’ Jack replied softly, ‘It’s the journey, not the destination.’ The thumb of one hand swivelled out, brushing against her full lips. She parted them slightly, feeling the moistness and breath escape. Her pussy called to her, and she gripped his forearms for support.

He pushed his thumb in slightly, barely penetrating Cat’s mouth, as she let the tip of her tongue brush against the tip of the digit. It was insane, an insane desire that she had to keep under control. Seconds later, her thoughts were lost as he pulled her in, found her mouth with his lips, and kissed her, hard and hot and with an unleashed hunger. Cat responded, moaning into his mouth…

As Cat finds herself giving into pleasures she never thought she could experience, she learns during a seance that the train really is haunted, haunted by spirits who in life had also surrendered to their own dangerous passions:

The cool air failed to overcome the overpowering heat Val felt emanating from her naked, trembling flesh. Mickey’s feather-light touch returned, trailing fingertips up along the contours of her ass, along the undercurves and up towards the dimples steepling her cheeks, even as his other hand pressed down against her lower back, keeping her dress raised and out of the way. Val trembled at his touch, his alternating waves of rough and gentle behaviour keeping her dizzy and wanting, made a sound like a whimper as she heard him undoing his trousers. Oh God, he was going to take her here and now, with his crew only a short distance away…
Then Val heard his trousers drop, felt him, his shaft, the velvety hot tip of it, touch the apex of the sweet valley between her buttocks, sliding down. And it descended, pausing to tease at the tightened opening to her rear. And as it continued further, Mickey leaned in closely as if to whisper in Val’s ear. ‘And what about… this?’
Mickey’s cock reached the puffed, wet, waiting entrance to Val’s pussy.
And entered.
Val moaned sharply, shamelessly, twisting like a worm on a hook as Mickey slowly filled her up, his hands gripping her hips. He kept still as she squirmed, and then flexed it inside her, making her start and curse into her arms.
He began to move, slowly driving into her, again and again, Val’s hot, wet flesh moulding itself around the hard member as it repeatedly, rhythmically filled her up, and releasing clusters of lovely sensations.
‘Yes, you came for this,’ Mickey purred, still gripping Val by the hips, steadying her against the table, his broad hairy thighs brushing against her stockinged legs. ‘But I think you came for more.’ Almost imperceptibly, his left hand released its hold on her hip, and moved up along Val’s cambered spine, gripping the loose material of her dress and holding onto it, his cock still thrusting relentlessly into her. Val was lost, unable to deny, acknowledge, or make any coherent response. And when she felt Mickey’s hand move around from her hip to her groin, touching her bush, stroking her even as his middle finger sought out the top of her slit, found her clit, stroked it while still driving into her from behind - she cried out, uncaring of who heard her.
Her thoughts jumbled as she came, bent forward wantonly over the table-
-As Cat, bent forward wantonly over the table, released her grip and fell backwards into her chair, the chair tipping back until the back of her head hit the floor.
Dimly she heard someone racing for the carriage lights, and then finding them. Heartbeats later, Nathan was kneeling at her side, opening her eyes to peer into them. Concern etched in his expression. ‘Catalina, what the hell-’
On her other side, one of the other attendants at the seance asked, ‘Is she okay?’
Cat tried to close her eyes again, found Nathan was still holding her lids open, and slapped his hand away. ‘Besame el culo, pajiero.’
Nathan let go and knelt back. ‘She’s okay.’

So, are you ready for the journey? Stop fighting it and let the spirits take you somewhere new!!

Southern Spirits is available now in both the UK and the US, in all good bookshops as well as on Amazon (where you can leave reviews by the way hint hint!). Please let me know what you think! Edie Bingham xxx

Guest Post: Sedonia Guillone

We're thrilled to have the lovely Sedonia Guillone visiting us here at Lust Bites today. Please make her feel welcome as she introduces us to her Men of Tokyo.

A bit about Sedonia:

Birthplace: Norwood, Massachusetts
Astrological signs: Taurus, Rooster in Chinese zodiac
Favourite films of all time: Seven Samurai, Yojimbo, Sanjuro
Favourite music: anything by Gackt
Foods: olives, pizza, Thai curry
And I’m a coffee freak. I think my blood type is “caffeinated”.

The work I’m most enthusiastic about at this time is my White Tigers series published at Total-E-Bound. I feel that with these stories I am finding my voice a bit more as a writer, as this series incorporates so many elements of my life in a strange and new synthesis. You wouldn’t think that a Jewish girl from New England would have anything in common with gay men in Japan, one of whom was a high ranking yakuza in a crime family. However, I will tell you that I grew up with a gay father in a house surrounded often by all these handsome guys he and my “stepfather” were friends with.

The kernels of the stories were planted in my psyche at a young age. However, unlike my household, the White Tiger is an intentional community in which the members are consciously working on their spiritual development and learn to place the welfare of their unique and deeply bonded friendships first. I am incredibly fortunate to have a community of friends in which such cooperation is our intention. Although we’re not even remotely like the White Tiger, the elements of sacrifice and friendship and deep acceptance are what I infuse into my characters and which fuel my love of these characters and stories.

I was initially inspired by Jade Lee’s Tigress (Dorchester Publishing) series of erotic historical romances set in turn-of-the century Shanghai in which she incorporates the incredibly erotic practices of the White Tigress with the development of a romance between the hero and heroine.

At the time however, I’d begun writing M/M and became absolutely enamored of the genre, wanting almost to write nothing else. That, along with my growing fascination with samurai culture, inspired by the magnificent films of Akira Kurosawa, presented me with a incredible source of story elements. Back in 2007, I wrote His Beautiful Samurai (Torquere Press), only my second M/M novel and first romantic suspense. Although it is set in contemporary Tokyo, there is an ill-fated romance between two samurai of the past that plays a part in the present mystery.


By then, I’d learned much more about the teachings of the White Tigress and was looking for a way to transpose this incredibly juicy venue into M/M. Hence, the White Tiger, a gay men’s hotel in Tokyo. As often happens with writers, ideas kick around in our minds and marinate, developing into a story the characters want us to tell. I’d had the idea in my mind of having two men go undercover in the White Tiger where they would undergo incredibly erotic experiences while solving the mystery. Of course! I had my two lovers from His Beautiful Samurai, Toshi Genjin (named for Toshiro Mifune, of course) and John Holmes (I swear I didn’t know then of the porn star by the same name, lol). This book became the sequel, Beautiful Samurai, White Tiger. However, once I wrote this story, I realized that the men of the White Tiger each had a romance and story of his own that needed to be told.



My boyfriend had given me a title to write a story for, as he’s done several times (Ace in the Hole, Loose Id and Enter the Hero (Red Sage Secrets, vol 25). Hence, Men of Phuket: Tongue-Thai’d had risen in my mind. The segue was perfect
and I was able to continue the story of Ryu, who appears briefly in Beautiful Samurai, White Tiger but who was deeply affected by the events in the novel. From there, I was like a racehorse let out of the gate. The romances of the White Tiger men have clamoured ever since to be told. I ended up going back in time a bit before the mystery that brings readers to the White Tiger and zoomed in on the men’s stories, i.e. how each of them came to be a part of the White Tiger, how the place got established, the development of the romances. The romance between Kiku (also named for Toshiro Mifune’s character in Seven Samurai) and Yuzo in Men of Tokyo: Sudden Surrender is the pivotal romance that sparks the events of Beautiful Samurai, White Tiger, yet the stories are structured so that the mystery can be read completely separately without needing the other White Tigers novels in order to understand what’s going on.

Blurb for Men of Tokyo: Sudden Surrender (current release)
In desperation for his life, Yuzo Kitano escapes the sadistic clutches of Taro Suzuki, one of Tokyo’s fiercest yakuza, and seeks refuge with Suzuki’s arch-rival, Kikuchiya Fujimara, owner of the White Tiger, a luxurious love-hotel for gay men which also serves as a spiritual community for its inhabitants. From early meetings with the handsome, charismatic leader who trains men in the sexual Tao, Yuzo senses deep inside he’s found someone he can trust and who will keep him safe. What he doesn’t expect is the absolute sensual bliss he finds with Kikuchiya’s skilled lovemaking and realizes he’s found what he’s really wanted his whole life. But does Kiku want him in return? At first, Kiku sees only Yuzo’s alluring beauty and desperate need for protection. But the headstrong impulsive Yuzo is also the first man Kiku has ever met whose touch is healing and calming for him, rather than a distressing channel for his psychic abilities, and the more he makes love to Yuzo, the more Kiku is in danger of losing his heart to another for the first time in his life. However, Kiku also knows that when Suzuki finds out where his slave has gone, there will be hell to pay. Kiku has already made one harrowing sacrifice to the yakuza in return for his freedom and might not survive a second…

Excerpt:

Kiku rolled over with Quan Chan in his arms so that he lay atop the other man. Chan Chan, as Kiku affectionately called his friend and sometime lover of ten years, nearly matched Kiku in physical size, so there was no mistaking the power in the possessive grip of Chan Chan’s thighs as they pressed into Kiku’s hips.

Brushing a kiss over his friend’s full parted lips, Kiku braced himself for the painful images that always assailed him during lovemaking. Didn’t matter who the man was, or even if they were making love. The visions came, as they did now when Quan Chan’s hands started to knead Kiku’s back muscles. Chan Chan as a boy in Shanghai, running wild in the streets while his mother earned their keep in a whorehouse. Dirt-streaked, hungry, often beaten up for fun by bigger, older boys and left to bleed and cry. Chan Chan had known only this life until he miraculously stumbled upon the White Tiger Temple, the original place that his own White Tiger was loosely modelled on.

Kiku turned his head from Chan Chan, but more images were coming. His dear friend as a young, troubled man searching for shelter by learning to stroke and lick another man’s dragon properly. Something about that always tore at Kiku’s heart.

“Kiku, are you all right?” Chan Chan asked in Shanghainese, the language Kiku had grown up speaking with his Chinese mother. The whispered question made him realize the tension seeping into his body.

Kiku sighed. “Yes. Fine.” No need to make the other man feel badly about what neither of them could control. He stroked a thumb across Chan Chan’s high cheekbone, knowing that their time as lovers would probably be ending soon, the way it had with Ryu when the visions grew too intense and frequent to bear while they were in bed. Lowering his face to his friend’s, he kissed him again, stealing between his lips to taste the moistness there.

As Chan Chan always did, his mouth softened in surrender. His hands resumed their caress on Kiku’s back and Kiku registered the deepening of emotion in the other man. Chan Chan had always been taken with him, but had started to fall deeply in love with him in recent months. Though Kiku wanted to return the romantic feeling, as he’d wanted to with Ryu, the visions held him off as if with spikes.

Tension clenched in his back and shot down his arms and legs. Kuso! Kiku shifted his hips forward to make their dragons slide together. The sensation was pleasant but didn’t make blood surge through his organ as it usually did. He was softening again. The third time this week. That had never happened to him before, no matter how bad the images were. “I’m sorry,” he whispered to Quan Chan.

The other man’s arms stayed around him. “What is it, Kiku? Please, talk to me.” Chan Chan’s insecurity hovered around them now, like a cloud. “Did I do something?”

Kiku cupped his cheek. The poor man still carried within him the child who blamed himself for every misfortune that befell him even though he was absolutely guiltless. “It has nothing to do with you, my friend.”

Chan Chan stilled. “It’s the visions, isn’t it?” Of course, after ten years of friendship, he’d be more tuned into Kiku than Kiku had given him credit for.

“Oh no,” Chan Chan moaned. He knew about how this same thing had forced Kiku to stop being lovers with Ryu who still pined away for his friend while living in the bedroom next door. “Does this mean…?”

Kiku winced at the pain in his friend’s voice. He smoothed a hand over Chan Chan’s brow. “I don’t know.” He looked down into the other man’s sad eyes, visible in the hushed lighting of the room. “Would you still be my friend if it did?” He couldn’t bear the thought of losing Chan Chan over this. Quan Chan was the man who’d brought him to the path of the White Tiger on his past trips to Shanghai for the Suzuki family’s business. Quan Chan had first taught him the promise of spiritual well-being through the proper use of his yang force. Taro Suzuki had once accused Kiku of being a “collector of people,” but Kiku knew the truth. To let go of a true friend like this man would be a foolish, stupid act.

“Of course, Kiku. I would never—”

A knock on the soji screen to his room interrupted Quan Chan.

“Yes?” Something about the urgency in the knock made Kiku’s heartbeat rise slightly.

“Kiku-sensei, forgive me for disturbing you.”

It was Naoto, his right hand around this place. The White Tiger ran as well as it did because of this young man’s service and Naoto would never disturb his private time unless there was a damn good reason.

“It’s all right. Come in.” He sat up as the screen slid open, revealing Naoto’s brawny form.

Naoto bowed. “I’m sorry. Ryu thought I should get you immediately.”

Ryu also would never disturb him for something superficial.

A strange energy skittered up Kiku’s arms. Beside him, he felt Chan Chan sit up, taking care to keep the covers over their groins. Not that it mattered if Naoto saw them. Naoto had once been a lover too, while Kiku taught him the practices of the White Tiger. “What is it?”

“Yuzo is here.”

The name took a moment to register in his consciousness. “You mean Suzuki’s uke?” What the hell would Suzuki’s submissive be doing here without Suzuki?

Naoto nodded his head of long hair. “Hai. He ran away from Suzuki and came here, asking for you. He’s in bad shape.”

“I’ll bet he is.” Kiku threw back the covers and shot to his feet. Suzuki never left anyone better than he found him. Always worse. “I’ll come right away.” In the past few months, Suzuki had brought the young man with him when he came to use the White Tiger. Kiku hated having Suzuki in his place and generally banned yakuza, but use of the facilities had been part of their agreement. As he threw on a kimono and tied the belt, a memory came to mind of the last time he’d seen Yuzo here with Suzuki. He hadn’t missed the way Yuzo looked at him with longing. Nor had he missed the hatred simmering in Yuzo’s large eyes when Suzuki’s back was turned.

Naoto was waiting in the hallway for him. At the threshold, Kiku remembered Chan Chan and turned. The man had also risen from the bed and was tying the sash of his kimono, a sad expression on his face. Though Quan Chan was still learning Japanese, Kiku knew his friend spoke enough of the language to have understood the exchange with Naoto. Their gazes met.

“I’m sorry, my friend,” Kiku murmured.

A touch of light infused Chan Chan’s eyes. “Friend is all that matters,” he said softly.

*******

Kiku followed Naoto’s lead down into the kitchen.

“He ran quite a distance,” Naoto said as they walked. “All the way from Suzuki’s flat. Barefoot, practically naked. Ryu heard someone pounding on the back door, and there he was.” He pushed open the door leading to the kitchen.

Kiku nodded his thanks and stepped in, already seeing a flash of shaggy hair. Proceeding into the kitchen with Naoto behind him, Kiku paused at the scene.

Yuzo sat in a chair by the large stainless steel centre table. The white button down shirt he wore was pushed back over one shoulder while Basho, the cook here at the White Tiger, was smearing cream over one side of Yuzo’s chest. Ryu knelt in front of Yuzo, his pink-dyed head bent over the task of wiping Yuzo’s bare feet gently with a wet cloth. A teapot and cup of tea already sat on the table beside Yuzo.

A flush of pride mingled with the foreboding Kiku already sensed. He’d trained his men well and they’d come a long way on the path of service and compassion from the basket cases each one had been in earlier years.

Ryu saw Kiku first. He looked up, hand freezing in mid-wipe of Yuzo’s left foot. “Kiku,” he said softly. He rose and stood aside, his eyes, Kiku grimly noted, stricken. No doubt, Yuzo’s plight brought back Ryu’s own nightmarish rape by Suzuki at the tender age of seventeen. Unlike Yuzo however, Ryu had been innocently asleep in his own bed, only to awaken with Suzuki and one of his goons hovering over him.

Although Ryu had set Yuzo’s foot back down, the young man in the chair kept his gaze down, as if not noticing what was happening.

“He’s really hurt,” Ryu went on, his voice tight. “That’s why we disturbed you. We wouldn’t have—“

“You absolutely did the right thing.” Kiku touched Ryu’s shoulder briefly before approaching the chair. When he did, Basho moved away also, revealing the reason for his use of cream on Yuzo’s chest.

Unprepared for the anger that spiked through him, Kiku clenched his fists at his sides and stared at Suzuki’s name tattooed there. The job was obviously freshly done, judging by the rawness of the skin around them as well as the darkness of the Nara ink, not quite blue-green as it would shortly turn.

“Suzuki held him down while his goon…” Ryu’s voice choked off.

“I understand.” Kiku’s own voice sounded tight to his ears. It was one thing to undergo the tattooing process by free choice as he and Ryu had done. Quite another to have it done as a branding, no matter how small the mark.

Only then did Kiku notice the slight trembling of Yuzo’s shoulders. The young man’s face remained tilted downwards, causing the shagginess of his hair to hide his eyes as if he were afraid or ashamed to make eye contact.

Kiku didn’t wonder about that. Even a man in Yuzo’s shattered state had to understand the risk he’d taken as well as the grave danger he put anyone into who gave him shelter.

No matter. Kiku’s soul-driven need to protect always won out, especially when it concerned a victim of Suzuki’s depravity. He knelt down and studied Yuzo’s hunched over form.

Suzuki’s pernicious yang force roiled in the air around Yuzo, like a noxious stink that permeated the young man’s skin and hair. No telling what the rotten energy had done to Yuzo’s heart and soul from prolonged intimate exposure. Ryu still had nightmares ten years after the rape. “You’re safe now, Yuzo,” Kiku said.

Yuzo’s ragged breathing made the bangs over his eyes ripple. His lips, full and pouty, were slightly parted, and his neatly manicured hands clutched his knees so tightly, his knuckles were white.

At first, Kiku thought the man was in such shock he wouldn’t answer, but then Yuzo lifted his gaze and looked directly at Kiku.

Large, liquid brown pools stared out from under thick heavy lashes. Kiku found himself staring back, disturbed at the sense of capture he experienced. He glanced away but felt drawn back, as if Yuzo’s silent will were stronger than any other force, and saw that the fear and horror in Yuzo’s eyes had already begun to ebb. “Thank you,” he whispered. Then, as if touched with a cattle prod, he sat up straighter, eyes wide. “I…I promise, Fuju, I won’t stay. I just needed to get away. Please believe me.”

Yes, he did understand. But there was something else in what Yuzo was saying, something that told Kiku that Yuzo had been planning to escape Suzuki and to take refuge here. No doubt a touch would tell him more.

Carefully, so as not to startle Yuzo, Kiku took gentle hold of Yuzo’s arms over the white shirt. Suzuki’s shirt, no doubt, judging from the way it draped so largely over Yuzo’s slim form. Yuzo’s triceps, though also slim, were hard and sinewy against Kiku’s fingertips. “We’ll talk about that later, Yuzo-san,” he said softly. “For now, you’ll stay here.”

Yuzo’s large eyes were staring down into his, unflinchingly and Kiku found himself studying every contour of the man’s face. The brush-like lashes, the shaggy way his hair framed his delicately-boned face, the poutiness of his full lips as well as the barest hint of moustache on his upper lip. Without that, his beauty would have been quite androgynous, very much like the boy-band type that was wildly popular these days. What wasn’t androgynous was Yuzo’s slender body of lightly chiselled muscle. That was all male.

Kiku caught himself staring and silently chided himself. To be objectifying the man at a moment like this. Only then did he realize the absence of images. He brushed his thumbs over Yuzo’s biceps, also hard and enticing as the rest of him. Nothing. Only Yuzo’s fear, mingled with relief and the continuing burn of Suzuki’s raw, angry qi.

How was this possible? Never mind that, he continued to chide himself. No doubt, once he got Yuzo into the shower, naked with him to cleanse him of Suzuki’s negative energy, the images would come. They always did.


You can visit Sedonia here.

Scary is sexy

In some ways, when we experience fear it is very akin to sexual arousal. We experience a sudden surge of emotions, adrenalin pumps through our bodies and our heartbeat elevates as our eyes widen and our pupils dilate. Both are extreme emotions prompted by some signal or other, but whether the physical response had anything to do with it I am not one hundred percent certain - but for me scary is sexy!

One of the first books I read that frightened me and yet titillated me at the same time was Dracula by Bram Stoker. To me, the novel definitely had erotic undertones that equated vampirism with sex. The hero Jonathan Harker travels to Count Dracula’s castle in Transylvania and while he is there falls under the spell of three wanton female vampires, to be rescued just in time by Count Dracula himself. Harker eventually returns to England and his fiancée Mina but Dracula follows him and begins to prey on Mina’s friend, Lucy. Night after night Dracula visits Lucy in her bed and drinks her blood. There is something very mesmerising about this mythical (I hope!) undead creature roaming the night desperate to drink blood from the neck of a warm red-blooded mortal.

I don’t find all scary movies sexy - gore-fests like Friday 13^th and the Jason movies don’t press my buttons but a very good friend of mine tells me that she finds Hannibal Lecter sexy in a bizarre kind of way.

The sexy but scary images I like best hail from TV. When I was small I found Doctor Who scary, but of course I was too young to equate that with sexy. Nevertheless there is definitely a hint of sexy now that David Tennant has made the role his own. Now add into the mix the omnisexual Captain Jack and I get some seriously sexy thoughts when I see them together.

To me, Buffy really started the trend of sexy and scary. We were given an innocent, pretty teenager who somehow morphed into this awesome vampire slayer, who also killed demons and other creatures that invade our nightmares. Buffy, played by Sarah Michelle Gellar, probably prompted any number of ‘wet dreams’ for a lot of adolescent boys. The programme really came into its own when Angel appeared on the scene. At first we saw a good-looking rather secretive guy, rather inappropriately called Angel, who seemed to want to help Buffy, and then we learned that he was a vampire who had had his soul restored to him by gypsies as punishment for the murder of one of their own. Angel was doomed to wander the earth trying to make retributions for the crimes he committed when he was Angelus, one of the most evil vampires to roam the earth.

The sexual attraction between Angel and Buffy changed the show and then one day they slept together. In this one moment of true happiness Angel was doomed to lose his soul again and he turned into his evil alter ego Angelus – how sexy is that? For me the evil Angelus baiting and taunting Buffy was a little scary and yet also incredibly sexy. Then Spike came on the scene and the pheromone count rose.

The show proved popular in the ratings and Angel (David Boreanaz) was given his own show, a grittier version set in LA. This Angel was darker and most definitely more of a turn on for his female fans. Thank you, Josh Weedon, for all the pleasure you gave me over the years.

Other vampire series have come and gone but one of my particular favourites was Moonlight. It wasn’t that frightening because in this show vampires weren’t all soulless creature: many of them were successful people living among humankind, scared that their secret might be discovered. Some had acolytes and allowed them to drink blood from their veins, as if the experience was almost orgasmic in its intensity. Mick St John was a vampire with a heart, not as angst-ridden as Angel but sexy all the same. His purpose in life was to recover his mortality and become human again. Mick fell in love with Beth Turner and eventually the show turned into a love story with a dark edge to it.

However, the show I now love best of all is Supernatural. It follows brothers Sam and Dean Winchester played by Jared Padalecki and Jensen Ackles respectively. They travel across the US in a black 1967 Chevy Impala investigating and combating paranormal events and other unexplained occurrences, many of them based on American urban legends and folklore, as well as classic supernatural creatures such as vampires, werewolves and ghosts. One of favourite episodes is about shapshifters, but they don’t just change their shape: when they morph from one person to another they shed their skin like a snake, but in a far more gory fashion. One becomes a copy of Dean and, when it is discovered, it slowly peels off its skin, one of the scariest images I’ve seen on TV, as the sexy Dean turns into this foul creature.

Angel, Buffy and Moonlight may have left our screens, apart from the ubiquitous repeats, but Supernatural is still in full flow. Try and catch if you want to watch something both scary and sexy at the same time.

Deanna

Today's Post

Due to circumstances beyond my control today's post will be a little late. In the meantime here is a little taster - the hunky Jensen Ackles from the scary but sexy television show 'Supernatural'.
Deanna

Coming Attractions

by Janine Ashbless

Well, after all our burbling about Olympic swimmers I thought the beach volleyball teams needed some praise too.

I note that The Daily Telegraph online said that "the athleticism and commitment of the competitors ensures that women's beach volleyball will be one of the most popular Olympic sports." Really? It has nothing to do with the itty-bitty little costumes? Must be just me then.

Tearing ourselves away from the wholesome titilation on TV for a moment...

This week on Lust Bites:

On Monday Deanna Ashford will be telling us why Scary is Sexy. Oh, you don't have to convince me...

On Wednesday we will be welcoming as a guest erotic romance author Sedonia Guillone, who will be talking about her seriously m/m series Men of Tokyo.

And on Friday Edie Bingham will be giving us hot and cold chills with an excerpt from her paranormal novel Southern Spirits.

Lust Bites - saving you from too much sport.

xxx Janine

What we did on our writer's holiday at RWA

by Kate Pearce.

For me, it was a simple drive through the tunnel, to the bay and into the city. Note-residents do not like it being called Frisco or San Fran, no idea why :) For some of the other Lusties, and ex-lusties it was a bloody long way. I remember when I first joined RWA looking at the list of conference venues and imagining when it would finally come to San Francisco, my home town. it seemed like light years away, but not only has it happened, but it's all over...

One major problem with 2000 women getting together is the noise level. It has a high-pitched kind of element to it that soon drives me insane. And all that estrogen floating around? Scary, I kid you not. The rare male who braves it, (yes there are a few male romance writers out there), who generally by the end of the week, end up looking either terrified or totally overwhelmed, and I can see why. The cleavage, the shoes, the outfits, God, it's fantastic, like high school meets Ms America.

To my eternal pride, I actually recognized the divine Madelynne Ellis when I met her at the pre-mini Beaumonde conference. She and I spent a happy day going to workshops on gunpowder, clothing, Regency knick-knacks, Regency food and tippling. Well, Madelynne tippled and I caked it, but it was fun either way.









When I met Portia, I could only be amazed about how little and delicate she was. Of course, all the Americans loved her and Madelynne with their 'quaint' accents. I loved them too, but at least I could just about understand them. I'm not sure what 10 years of living in California has done to my accent-maybe they couldn't understand me!

Please note the cleavage of Ms Madelynne Ellis in this picture. Cleavage was very 'in' or should I say 'out' at RWA this year. Mel, a friend of mine, runs an annual contest on her blog called "who's tits are these?", which has nothing to do with writing at all but is still good fun.


This is the obligatory picture of a cable car. I'm proud to say that despite living here for ten years, I've never been on one. But I've heard the ride is equally fascinating and terrifying. The hills really are unbelievably steep, so if you hang on the side, you get the near death experience of almost falling out. If you sit down, you get the air squeezed out of you when everyone leans on you. I can think of better ways to die...


I did ask Portia for her impressions of RWA and San Francisco and she said the worst thing has been the jet lag. I can understand that having suffered it a few times myself over the years. The best thing for her was meeting me-(well actually, what she said was meeting all the people she knew online, so I suppose that includes me. :)

Some fellow Knight Agency clients made up a basket for the Passionate Ink party, which is the erotic romance chapter of RWA. We called it "The Knight Agency box of Naughty Deliciousness" As I lived closest I ended up getting packages sent to my house containing riveting items such as 'cock soup' penis shaped lollipops, orgasmic mints and smutty books. I added some dark chocolate balls and various other edibles. The whole thing was topped off by two feather boas and a feathered black and silver mask from New Orleans.




Imagine my delight when Portia won the basket! And guess who got to take it all back home again ready to ship it to Portia?-yup, me.

I believe there were lots of workshops at the conference although I 'think' I only managed to go to about six...The rest of my time was spent 'networking'. I like that term, it covers such a wide range of activities doesn't it? I went to a lot of parties as well, 4 in one night, which included the awesome Passionate Ink party where they gave away mini-vibrators as party favors. Now that's classy and with wine at the hotel at $11 a glass, a gift full of endless amusement seemed far more satisfying and a lot cheaper than getting drunk.

My other publisher, Kensington also had a cocktail party that night and they even paid for the drinks which is probably why I'm smiling and flushed in this picture.


The other big party is the Harlequin one, which everyone seems to crash, except me this year, I was still knackered after the night before. Here is a lovely picture of Portia, Saskia Walker, Shelli and Karen, obviously having the time of their lives, without me.



And let's not forget the Lost Lusties...This is Dayle and Teresa at the Romance Divas dinner refusing to share the chocolate cake. You can see why they fitted in so well around here.




Erotic romance is still viewed with some suspicion by many members of RWA, but I think they are coming around. I sat next to an inspirational/mainstream romance writer at the literacy signing and she was extremely nice. She even introduced me to her rather shocked friends at one of the luncheons-I'm all for spreading the love...after all that's what San Francisco's all about, right?

Anyone who wants to add their experiences, or ask any questions about what else we got up to, please do!

.

Crush Wednesday: Smooooth Young Men

This post is inspired by Germaine Greer, who ironically, dislikes women being viewed as sex objects. However she does have rather a thing for beautiful young men.

I can't say I blame her. With the Olympics in full swing I find myself gravitating to the swimming events, although I can't help but be more interested in the after the race scenes when the swimmers peel down those all-in-one suits almost to indecent effect. And no-one seems to care that the camera is moving around all this, for which I am profoundly grateful.

I love the seeming (and probably lying) innocence of their eyes, of their mouths. Their young taut flesh, just waiting to be plundered...

As I get older I wonder if I'm just too old and pervy to be so very appreciative of the young male body -but then... Germaine Greer will always be older than me.

I'll shut up now, and just post the pictures. That's all you are here for, aren't you?