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‘Guest Post’ Category

  1. What You Need to Read Next

    November 7, 2012 by Heather Cole

    The amazing guest posts this week (more to come Friday… heh, I said “come”) are written by authors contributing to FELT TIPS: the world’s first anthology devoted to office-themed erotica, edited by the famous and talented Tiffany Reisz. It’s set to be released 12/12/12 and pants are already dropping in anticipation. Well, those of you who wear pants.

     

    Don’t fret, Vagina Antics readers! There are still amazing stories to be read in the meantime. This week’s guest authors are published in two different genres: erotic historical romance and horror. Oh yes! We have a veritable cornucopia of books featured here today. Check them out!

     

    Prohibited Passion (A Bandit Creek Historical Erotic Romance) – January 15, 2012

    Ruth wants to escape the boredom of Bandit Creek and the strict expectations of her father, the local pastor. Her life changes the day she meets CeeCee, a world-wise flapper, and an irresistible attraction develops between them. She’ll be disowned and shunned if anyone discovers their prohibited passion, but can they keep their growing affection a secret?

    CeeCee is drawn to Ruth, but things become complicated when her gangster companion disapproves of their liaison. He’s in town to broker a deal with the owner of the local speakeasy, and he’s not above using them to further his own plans. Can CeeCee protect Ruth and their budding relationship?

    As Ruth gets drawn further into their world, she must decide between her familiar life and a new, dangerous path with the woman she loves.

    Read the first chapter here.

    Betting the Farm (April, 2012)

    After her father’s funeral, Elly has come back to the family farm to pack up the heirlooms and arrange for the sale of the property. What starts as a lonely night turns into something more when a thunderstorm brings a beautiful stranger to her door…

    A 5,000 word short story.

     

    Find Alyssa here on Twitter or on her website here.

     

     

     

     

    The Stories (Fear In Words)

    The debut collection of short horror stories from emerging talent, Jason Darrick. The stories guide the reader on a torturous journey of human pain and suffering, and are best consumed as a whole. Each story may stand alone, bringing the reader five visceral, emotional and cerebral tales.

     

    Stalk Jason here on Twitter and here on his website.

    Here for Facebook.


  2. Morrabrød.* – A Guest Post by Alyssa Linn Palmer

    November 5, 2012 by Heather Cole

    Alyssa Linn Palmer is an author and fellow contributor to FELT TIPS: the world’s first anthology devoted to office theme erotica. (To be released 12/12/12)  As lovely in person (I have this on good authority, although I know her mainly through Twitter) as she is with words, Alyssa was gracious enough to write for us about losing her virginity. To a NORWEGIAN no less. In my mind he’s wearing a fisherman’s sweater and a jaunty red scarf. Hush, now… don’t ruin my daydream. Without further ramblings from moi, here is beautiful Alyssa…

     

    Morrabrød.*

    Probably one of the most remarkable words I learned while traveling. Of course it’s sexual. Same with the delightful ‘bollemus’†. Can you guess where I learned them?

    My first serious boyfriend was Norwegian. Not Norwegian-Canadian, but full proper Norwegian, living in Norway. You wouldn’t think that a girl would have to go so far to find someone, but there you have it. The selection of men (actually, boys–let’s be honest, at 18 years old, that’s what they were) that I knew held no attraction whatsoever: we had little to nothing in common, aside from our location.

    B, as I’ll call him, in the interests of privacy, was everything that the local boys weren’t. Well-read, a writer (I still have a copy of one of his screenplays), well-spoken, slightly older (by a few years), and an obsessive fan of the same music I listened to. An excellent match. We talked online for hours, on the phone for hours more, and going to Norway to see him was the first big overseas trip I ever took.

    It was also when I lost my virginity.

    Trust me to only feel comfortable enough to have sex for the first time when I was halfway around the world from my parents. But I think I was really fortunate. It’s a time I remember with fondness and delight.

    Not the entire evening; some of it is a blur, a haze of pleasure. It was overwhelming, but one of the best experiences of my life. The foreplay went on for some time before we even got into the bedroom. And the orgasm… that’s part of that haze of pleasure I mentioned.

    I got lucky, but I had to go halfway round the world for that luck. I outgrew some of my shyness and became comfortable in my own skin. B was instrumental in expanding my horizons: pretty much anything I suggested he was up for. As Dan Savage says, an ideal partner should be GGG (‘good in bed,’ ‘giving equal time and equal pleasure,’ and ‘game for anything—within reason.’). B was GGG.

    There were a lot of firsts that trip. It was my first time in a non-English speaking foreign country (though lots of Norwegians do speak English very well), my first overseas trip, my first serious partner, and my first experience with real intimacy.

    There were those lazy mornings in bed. Being interrupted mid-playtime when his sister knocked on our door, wondering why we were still in bed at eleven o’clock. (Oops.) Going down to the corner grocery to pick up dinner and eating it while watching Lars von Trier’s ‘Riget’. Walking downtown to spend an hour in Platekompaniet, a well-stocked record shop. Seeing the Nasjonalgalleriet and the room full of Edvard Munch paintings.  Strolling hand-in-hand down Karl Johans gate. Even more hours still drinking cider and eating Turkish food and having long, amazing conversations.

    Thinking about all these firsts has made me nostalgic. Perhaps these experiences why I like older apartment blocks with flats that are a bit worn from the years. I know it’s why I still love the band Seigmen, Hal Hartley films (I especially recommend ‘Amateur’, about a nun who is a nymphomaniac!), and Freia melksjokolade (milk chocolate).

    Being with B, and being physically and emotionally intimate… I was truly grown up. Our relationship changed me, and I can only think it was for the better.

    Plus, I still remember a smattering of Norwegian. A few basics: ‘Un bilet, takk.’ (‘A ticket, thanks.’) ‘Tusen takk.’ (‘Thank you very much.’) ‘Godt Nytt år.’ (‘Happy new year.’) And my favourite: ‘Jeg elsker deg.’ (‘I love you.’)

     

    *  literally, ‘morning-wood’, or early morning erection.

    † ‘bowl mouse’, or the shape of a woman’s mons.

     

     

    Alyssa Linn Palmer is a Canadian writer and freelance editor. She splits her time between a full-time day job, and her part-time loves, writing and editing. Her novella PROHIBITED PASSION and short story BETTING THE FARM are available as ebooks. Her short story VEE will be available in the upcoming charity anthology FELT TIPS in December 2012. She’s currently working on two new projects, one of which is a novel set during the gangster heyday in Chicago in 1925. You can find her online at www.alyssalinnpalmer.com, or on Twitter @alyslinn.


  3. So How in the Heck Did I Get Here? – a guest post by Michelle Ribaric

    October 19, 2012 by Heather Cole

    It’s our first FELT TIPS guest post, and here to pop our cherry is the eloquent Michelle Ribaric. Michelle is author of the erotica short, All Work and No Play. Look for her and all the other amazing writers (and me!) in December for the first office supply themed erotica anthology. Kisses! Heather

     

    I have a tricked out hand basket.  It’s got a king sized bed, a Roman shower, a hot tub, along with a live-in gorgeous chef, a kick ass entertainment system and a few friends, preferably hot and wearing kilts.  At least that’s my take on it.  It also blares Highway to Hell at times just to annoy the neighbors.

    So why do I have a hand basket at all you might ask?  Well, as of December, I will be a totally published author; in the amazing anthology– FELT TIPS.  But I’ll be a  *gasp * EROTICA author.  Thus the hand basket.

    Well to get there, we need to go back to the beginning.  I was born in the South; the rural South; the oops, that big metal thing you just tripped over darlin’?  That was the Buckle of the Bible Belt.  Yea.  In addition to that my mother was a converted Catholic.  Not the hey we go to church on Easter and Christmas.  Not even the we go once a week and on Holy Days.  Oh no.  My mom became the one that goes to church 6 days a week, petitioned to have the masses back in Latin, and started doing pilgrimages to countries with shooting and land mines.  And she sent me to Catholic school for grades 1-8.  I still get twitchy when I see penguins.  At least penguins don’t carry rulers.

    So how did I get here?  I argued as a kid – a lot.  I argued with the nuns, priests, my mother, and I waited.  Out of 313 graduating students I was the only one to leave the state.  In other words, I ran and I ran fast.  Then I began to research and ask questions and read more books.  Books that weren’t allowed at home.

    And I wrote.  I had always dabbled in writing and loved it, but was told to pick a worthy career – my parents were horrified when I told them my top career choices I wanted were – author, chorus dancer in NY, and tennis pro.  Seriously.  They were NOT impressed.  Imagine that.  Anyway I kept writing – mystery, non-fiction, kids, and finally romance.  But nothing that I ever considered “worthy” – enter that lovely “voice” in my head that sounded amazingly like a cross between my mother and one of the nuns I endured.

    Then the internet happened – well the internet became available to the normal folk.  And with that book came shops online, chat rooms, webpages, blogs, and boy did a whole world open up to me.  I read things I had never heard of.  And I liked them.  And I wrote more, but kept it secret because that silly mindset of good girls don’t do this was still trapped in my head.

    I met an amazing guy and married him.  And he didn’t care if we had sex in a bed – there was the couch, the kitchen counter, the backyard, the car, etc.  And we had fun, a lot of fun.

    And after a few years the Universe decided I needed to have my turn at being a female Atlas and produced an amazing load for my shoulders.  My father passed away and then my husband’s job, that we had moved to the West Coast for, laid him off.  It took him a year to find a job and in the meantime, I worked part time jobs to keep us afloat.  He found a job – 363 miles away and got a studio apartment while I kept our home going.  Two years later my husband was home with a local job and we breathed again.   Only to have the Fates let us know we were just getting started.

    My remaining Aunt died; my great-uncle, that had been close to me after my grandfather had died when I was 9, died; we lost our 20, 19and 18 year old cats, my mother had a stroke; my big brother died unexpectedly and my sister – the stage 4 cancer survivor who had survived a major heart attack and had a pacemaker and a defib implanted – and I had to step up and handle everything.  I flew back for a week at a time to the South every 4-5 weeks.   I met with lawyers and financial people and helped take care of my mom.  A year later mom died and my great “Auntie” passed as well leaving us to clean out houses, and deal with more things that I had never imagined.  And I wrote.  A LOT.  I wrote in journals.  I wrote letters that were never sent to folks that abandoned me during all of this or that went out of the way to hurt me.  I wrote romance; I wrote sex; I wrote erotic romance, nonfiction, cookbooks, kid’s fiction.  It helped to keep me sane and now, three years later, I’m still on those planes, although not as much, helping to bring in harvests and help out sis.

    And here’s what that nightmare taught me:   On a planet of 6 billion plus people those voices in my head represented less than maybe 10 – definitely less than 100 – I should never have listened to them.  If you don’t reach for your dreams NOW, you may never get tomorrow.  They are your dreams – therefore they are worthy of your time and your love and screw anyone – not in a good way, mind you – that tells you they are not.  Every day you wake up is a chance – make of it what you can.

    And after a glimpse, a thought, a chance – I grabbed it – Thank you very, very, much Tiffany!, and now, there’s no stopping me.  Yes, the Universe keeps throwing things at me, but I’ve got a tricked out hand basket and I’m reaching for every dream I’ve got!

     

     

    Michelle was born a Southern gal, and we all had farms.  Worked everything from waiting tables, to being a vet tech, to working in a funeral home.  Plans are to get back to the farm with Highland Cattle, Cashmere goats and a lot more.  Love being ruled by animals; happily married and hoping to be an athlete again – oh and a writer, always a writer

    Contact via Twitter:
    Michelle BellRibaric  https://twitter.com/TheBellWitch


  4. Aunty Flo Comes A Knockin’ – Guest Post by Jillian Boyd

    June 26, 2012 by Heather Cole

    Nikki and I are THRILLED to have the lovely and talented Ms. Jillian Boyd featured on Vagina Antics this week. She’s a smut writer and blogger, and her blog is a delightful mixture of erotica and honest posts about her own developing sexuality. PLUS, she’s a fellow contributor to the erotica anthology FELT TIPS, edited by Tiffany Reisz, that will be published later this year.

     Our guest bloggers get to choose their topic, and this week Jill wanted to write about that monthly visitor, our periods. Yes, that neglected part of female sexuality that gets negative press from women and men alike. This week we offer our readers three different viewpoints and different experiences about a common event that connects all females. Enjoy!  xoxo Heather 

     

    Aunty Flo Comes A Knockin’

    By Jillian Boyd

    I’ve noticed something.

    It’s been troubling me for a few months now, but I can no longer keep quiet on it. My periods have changed.

    Seriously. The last few months, they have become worse. More bleeding, fiercer pains in my lower belly, mood swings of a positively apocalyptic fashion. Well, maybe not that last one, but I have swings in my mood and they are not pleasant.

    Never once did I imagine them to become worse. When I got them at age eleven (yes, I bloomed too early), they were already terrible.

    Do I remember getting them?

    Oh yes. Yes, I do. Because it was awful. Traumatic, awful and oh dear me.

    Picture this. You’re about eleven years old. Nobody in school likes you, seeing as you’re that weird autistic kid from that special boarding house who doesn’t get to go home on the weekends. You’re shy, you’re awkward, you have no idea what life is.

    So, of course, your periods decide to pounce on you in the middle of a school day.

    You try to hide them. You even sit on your jacket on the bus ride home, because you don’t want to leave stains on the seating.

    The bus ride is uncomfortable, by the way. As if you couldn’t guess.

    You arrive back at the boarding house, and run up to one of the pedagogues. At this point you are without any words, so what you do is just show the MAHUSSIVE bloodstain on your jacket.

    The pedagogue nods. “You’ve become a woman,” she says. (I don’t actually remember if she said it, seeing as I was violently sobbing and crying out for my mum at this point. True story.)

    Needless to say, the first few months of my period weren’t exactly happy times.

    I didn’t really know how to control the flow and when to change pads, so I often had “accidents”, that kind of made me the laughing stock of the entire school. It’s not fun running around with massive red stains across your bum, I tell you that.

    Not long after, I started taking birth control, to regulate the flow of my periods. It did help, although it took me a few years to get used to changing pads in time. When I finally mastered that, I felt like I’d conquered a small country.

    They became more subdued too. I could go about my business without keeling over with stomach cramps. No significant mood swings took over. It felt good.

    Although, of course, you tend to lie about it in order to get out of PE class.

    Or was that just me?

    Lately though, it’s gotten worse. I don’t know how it got to be worse, but I just know that I’m experiencing more cramps and more mood swings.

    You tend to learn to live with it though. ‘Cos that’s just how Flo rolls, ‘innit?

    Every period experiences changes, I presume. Right now, mine is just at that time where I need more lie-downs during. And possibly a hot pack.

    So.

    Periods. Talk about them. Write about them. Fuck, be daring, and taste your own period blood, like I once did. There’s nothing to be ashamed of.

    Flo can be a bitch. But she’s really nothing to worry about.

     

    Jillian Boyd is a writer (of smut), blogger (of sex) and serial coffee drinker (of milk and two sugars). She is a soon-to-be expat and will be conquering the UK with her salacious ramblings. She blogs at http://barenakedlady.wordpress.com, and owns the I Spit Glitter (http://ladyspittingglitter.tumblr.com) and Filthy/Gorgeous/Love (http://filthygorgeouslove.tumblr.com) Tumblr blogs. 


  5. Guest Post by TIFFANY REISZ, Erotica Writer

    June 1, 2012 by Heather Cole

    I passed over the money.

    I was ordered to strip naked.

    I was tied up.

    I had to bend over a kneeler like those you’d see in a medieval church.

    First the flogger.

    Then the strap.

    Then the tawse – it’s like a wide belt, solid leather. Burns like hell.

    Then the cane. Oh, the cane…every time I got hit I had to count and say thank you.

    And once the agony of the beating ended, I was tied to a chair with my thighs tied wide, and forced to have an orgasm.

    Humiliating. Excruciating. Brutal. I had bruises for two weeks after.

    Who was the bastard sadist who did all this to me?

    A monster?

    A rapist?

    A violent thug?

    No. It was a five-foot three lithe little beauty of a brunette named Mistress Jeanette.

    I’d just gotten my ass kicked by a Dominatrix.

    My name is Tiffany Reisz, and I’m a kinkster. Switch by nature. Submissive by training. I love it. I live it. I write about it.

     

    Once upon a time I decided to write a book that would include a scene where a beautiful man ended up blindfolded with his hands tied behind his back. When I looked at this tied up man in my mind (often, very often), I knew it was a women who’d tied him up. But what sort of woman would do that?

    Who else? A Dominatrix.

    So my book became a story about a stuffy British man, a bit of a bluestocking boy even if he was sexy as sin, forced into a working relationship with a feisty, frisky, fearless Dominatrix. I gave her my personality since I wasn’t using it at the time. And thus Mistress Nora Sutherlin, erotica writer by day, Dominatrix by night, was born.

    Of course I had to do research, didn’t I? Last year in NYC I made an appointment with a Dominatrix for a 30-minute session. What happened is detailed at the top—flogging, caning, bruising, orgasm by force.

    Here’s the fun thing about Dominatrixes. They’re real and they’re just like you imagine they would be. Beautiful, larger-than-life, sadistic, powerful, and not afraid to pull any punches. You give them your money for the pleasure of putting your life in their hands. And if you’re me, you don’t begrudge a penny of it after. In a world that expects men to be Alphas and women to kneel, these ladies stand on the backs of the boys of the world and tells them to stay there, shut up, and do what they’re told.

    Today’s my 34th birthday so that means I’m in charge.

    So shut up. Buy THE SIREN. Read it. Love it.

    Or else…

     

    Tiffany Reisz lives in Lexington, Kentucky with her boyfriend (a reformed book reviewer) and two cats (one good, one evil). She graduated with a B.A. in English from Centre College in Danville, Kentucky and is making both her parents and her professors proud by writing BDSM erotica under her real name. She has five piercings, one tattoo, and has been arrested twice.

    When not under arrest, Tiffany enjoys Latin Dance, Latin Men, and Latin Verbs. She dropped out of a conservative southern seminary in order to pursue her dream of becoming a smut peddler. Johnny Depp’s aunt was her fourth grade teacher. Her first full-length novel THE SIREN was inspired by a desire to tie up actor Jason Isaacs (on paper). She hopes someday life will imitate art (in bed).

    If she couldn’t write, she would die.

     

     

    “Tiffany Reisz is a smart, artful, and masterful new voice in erotic fiction! An erotica star on the rise!”
    Award-winning author Lacey Alexander

    “Tiffany Reisz’s The Original Sinners series is painful, prideful, brilliant, beautiful, hopeful, and heart-breaking. And that’s just the first hundred pages.”
    Courtney Milan, New York Times Bestselling Author of The Duchess War

    “A beautiful, lyrical story… The Siren is about love lost and found, the choices that make us who we are…and above all, finding our way home. I can only hope that Ms. Reisz pens a sequel!”
    Bestselling author Jo Davis

    “Dazzling, devastating and sinfully erotic, Reisz writes unforgettable characters you’ll either want to know or want to be. The Siren is an alluring book-within-a-book, a story that will leave you breathless and bruised, aching for another chapter with Nora Sutherlin and her men.”
    Miranda Baker, author of Bottoms Up and Soloplay

    The Original Sinners series certainly lives up to its name: it’s mindbendingly original and crammed with more sin than you can shake a hot poker at. I haven’t read a book this dangerous and subversive since Chuck Palahniuk’s Fight Club. The most shocking thing, however, is how much you’ll feel for the characters. If your heart doesn’t break at least ten times over the course of The Siren, check yourself into a morgue.”
    Andrew Shaffer, author, Great Philosophers Who Failed at Love


  6. Guest Fiction: The Good Boy

    May 2, 2012 by Heather Cole

    I can’t remember how I stumbled upon Anna Sansom’s The Ladygarden Project, but once I discovered it I was hooked. She’s thoughtful about sex, a woman who explores sexuality with the philosophy that you can be sexy at any size. She hosts fascinating guest bloggers who cover a range of sexual topics, and I’ve found humor and have been touched by the experiences written there. When she agreed to guest blog for us here at Vagina Antics, I was thrilled when she volunteered to write fiction. Hurrah for us! After reading her story Nikki said, “damn, she’s GOOD.” But you can discover this for yourself. –Heather 

     

    The Good Boy

    I handed the plastic tray back to the air stewardess, most of the food untouched. The movie had finished, it would be a few hours before the next meal was served, and the lights in the cabin were being dimmed. I walked my feet up and down on the spot. If the plane did manage to stay up in the sky for the duration of the flight, and I survived this long-haul ordeal, the last thing I wanted was to arrive in Australia and promptly die of a DVT!

    Australia had been a lifelong dream and it had taken me until now, until the grand age of 43, to finally pluck up the courage to get on the plane. I wasn’t enjoying it one bit.

    “You could try and get some valium,” my friend Susie had suggested. “Or take a dirty book – that always takes my mind of the flight.”

    I’d gone for her second suggestion and pulled the book I’d borrowed from Susie out of the seat pocket. This had better work. The drone of the plane filled my head and every slight change in its sound signalled how close we flew to disaster.

    As I reached overhead to switch the reading light on, the young guy in the seat next to me did the same. The backs of our hands brushed each other for a second and we were both illuminated in the blue-white spotlights.

    He extracted his book and held it in his hands. I glanced across. I saw a well-read, leather-backed book and long, slender fingers. He moved his hand slightly and I read the title: The Bible.

    As I looked up I noticed that he had also been checking out my choice of reading. The cover of Master at Midnight featured a picture of a woman, head thrown back, neck exposed, with a man’s hand entwined in her hair. I refused to feel embarrassed. This guy was simply a stranger on a plane, in another eight hours we would arrive in Sydney and I’d never see him again. I opened my book and started to read.

    I hadn’t even got past chapter one when the plane started falling. It suddenly dropped, bumped us in our seats, and then rose again as we hit what the pilot called “a spot of turbulence”. I clutched my book and squeezed my eyes shut. “Please god,” I muttered.

    “Are you praying?” His voice was warm and rounded with an upward, Australian inflection.

    I opened my eyes. “I’m scared of flying,” I admitted.

    “Do you want to hold my hand?” I nodded and his smooth fingers wrapped around my own. The plane stopped bumping. “Better?”

    “Thank you,” I tried to draw my hand away but he added his other hand over the top, now clasping mine gently.

    “Reading helps,” he said motioning to the discarded books in both our laps. “I’ve done this flight a lot, it’s best to find something to distract you.”

    “Thank you,” I repeated and he released my hand. We picked up our books again, he opened his but I just help mine in my lap. He looked serene and calm as he read on through the passages of Corinthians. A theology student? I wondered. He didn’t look much older than 21 or 22 and, even in the unflattering, artificial light of the cabin, I could see he was boyishly handsome.

    The plane started lurching again and I automatically grabbed at his hand. He held it tightly and, with his free hand, switched off both our overhead lights. “I know something that helps,” he told me.

    “Please,” I told him, “Oh lord, just make it stop.”

    His free hand worked under the blanket that was covering my lap and I felt his thumb rub firmly over the top of my thigh. “Just focus on my hand,” he whispered.

    I pulled my concentration away from the bouncing plane and honed in on the sensation of a stranger’s touch. His thumb moved closer and closer to my groin in tight circles. I was still grasping his other hand and felt an invisible line connecting our bodies. As long as he keeps touching me, we’ll be safe. It was an irrational thought, but it was all I had.

    His thumb reached my mound and kept on circling. I shifted in my seat to open my thighs and allow him to continue his journey. The circles moved down, working a path along the length of my pussy lips and back up again. The pressure was consistent and he kept to a steady pace. It was hypnotic.

    I wriggled a little further down into my seat and felt his thumb make contact with my clit. The layers of fabric between his touch and my flesh were beginning to annoy me. I wanted him to touch me. As if reading my mind, his fingers worked open the button on my jeans and deftly slid the zip down. Now his fingers walked a path underneath the elastic of my knickers and slipped smoothly into the well of moisture he’d created. He stroked me gently and my clit grew hot and swollen.

    He soothed and stroked over and over, up and down, and round and round. Every now and then he dipped a finger inside me – just one slender finger dipping in and stroking up.

    He held me in this place of languid bliss, making no effort to hurry me to orgasm.

    My entire being was poised under his fingertips as he caressed my clit and lips. I relaxed under his touch while my body responded; I grew harder and slicker.

    Another dip inside me, a sweep up and over my clit, and I felt my orgasm begin to release. With each touch my body rose higher and higher until I was flying.

    He cupped his hand over my cunt and whispered, “It’s okay now.”

    © Anna Sansom

     

    Anna Sansom is on a mission to encourage and support women to enjoy and celebrate their bodies and sex! She blogs at The Ladygarden Project – sharing entertaining and inspiring stories, videos and experiences by herself and other ‘ladygardeners’. And also runs Sexy at Any Size – a website and workshop dedicated to helping women feel sexy and enjoy their bodies whatever their size and shape. She has been published in an erotic short story anthology by Alyson Books and is currently finishing her first erotic novel.