Wednesday, February 29, 2012

Bear Talk Blog Hop - Featuring Margie Church

Bear Lovin' 

Margie Church

Some of my contemporaries on the Bear Talk tour are gay, and frankly, most of the time when I'm talking about bears, it's usually with gay friends. Strangely, I know few women who melt at the sight of a man's body covered in lush, soft hair. I'm raising my hand. They make me swoon. I married one.

A long time ago, I had a handful of likeminded girlfriends. We made it our duty to scope out all the men who worked with us in a very large company. On casual Fridays, we got to investigate the necklines of these guys (who were likely checking us out five days a week). Over lunch, we'd speculate about who had the kind of chest and body hair that would create the most amazing friction if we were lucky enough to rub against it. Perhaps these men saw a glimmer in our eyes on Fridays, or after they leaned a particular way and we could see through a gap between their shirt buttons. We didn't care. We called those guys members of the Open Collar Club.

We so wanted to open their collars a bit more . . . . I think I need a moment . . .

I also belong to a wonderful group called Forbidden Love. We have our eyes glued to several sexy actors– and we pit ourselves against each other – the waxers and the non-waxers. Those in my group – the non-waxers – think it's abominable to denude a man's beautiful chest hair and worse yet, his treasure trail. When you rest your cheek against a man's chest, isn't it fun to dawdle with your fingers in the soft hairs? We think so.

Maybe gay men embrace the bear mentality because they reflect their own bodies more often. They understand (or fear) the pain created by waxing, the chaffing from razors, and the itch during re-growth. I'm not saying that men aren't vain about the way they look. Quite the contrary, most want to look pleasing to themselves and their partners. I do, however, think that like muscle tone and height, body hair is another sign of a man's virility.

The current fad on television and in books seems to be the other kind of bare - bare chests, bare everywhere. I don't mind some manscaping. I think it's nice to respect your partner in certain areas of the body, but I think it's weird to want him to be utterly bare. As I always say, men have hair; boys don't. I like men. And I love my bears.

Luis is a bear in my newest book, Krewe Daddy. His close-cut beard gives him striking good-looks. A downy-soft thatch covers his barrel chest, and it doesn't stop there. He's a total turn-on to Drew, and any other guys who enjoys bear lovin'.

Contest: Read about Luis and the other fantastic men in my brand new book, Krewe Daddy. Tell me what you love most about bears and you could win a copy. Please leave your email address so I can find you!

Krewe Daddy by Margie Church

Luis is the Daddy, a sought-after lover, with an ego to match the mammoth-sized Mardi Gras floats he designs. His lifestyle and reputation are wearing him out, but Luis can't find a satisfying way to break the cycle and be happy, too.

Drew's insecurities pushed him to have a foolish affair six years ago. It destroyed his relationship with Luis, and he's never been able to commit to anyone since. Now, he's taken control of his life and changed his submissive personality by becoming a model for Kevin Marks, and a wildlife enforcement agent in New Orleans.

These men haven't forgotten each other, or settled their differences. When they accidentally meet in a French Quarter gay bar, the years of regret, anger, and pent-up emotions erupt. Their passion is as hot as ever, their mistrust just as potent. When Drew's future is in Luis' hands, will he choose his lifestyle or love?

Buy Krewe Daddy at Noble Romance right now.

Buy all my other books on Amazon.

Learn more about Margie at Romance with SASS

Follow the Bear Talk Tour! There are great prizes at every stop.

Also Today:

Hank Edwards will be at Kayla Jameth

Thurs MAR 1
Deanna Wadsworth will be at Hank Edwards 
Tom Webb will be at Louisa Bacio

Fri MAR 2
Ike Rose-Author will be at Margie Church
DC Juris will be at Deanna Wadsworth
DV Sadero will be at Kayla Jameth

Monday, February 27, 2012

Bear Talk Blog Hop - Featuring Silvia Violet - ***NSFW***

Hi everyone! I'm Silvia Violet, and I'm excited to be part of the Bear Talk Blog Tour. I'm looking forward to all the posts this week celebrating beautiful, hairy men. Make a comment on this post, and you could win a .pdf copy of my bear tale, Protect and Serve: Paws on Me.
My first encounter with m/m romance occurred over ten years ago, back in the fledging days of ebook publishing. Some readers on an email list I followed were gushing about certain titles that I learned were m/m/f m̩nages. I read those, thoroughly enjoyed the man-on-man action, and started looking for m/m titles as well. I found a few that I liked, but most of the books I discovered were about young, smooth, skinny boys Рtwinks, though I didn't know that term then. While occasionally the storyline of these books drew me in, I wanted books about men who looked and acted like men. Rather than being a girl who likes boys who like boys, I like men who like men. I was puzzled by the absence of bigger, stronger men in the m/m books I found.
Now that I am writing my own m/m stories, my male characters are typically big, rarely hairless, and always sturdy enough to be ridden hard. I have written a few eighteen or nineteen-year-old characters, but none of them fit that smooth, boyish description. These are my personal preferences. I'm not against books about boyish men. I've read plenty that I've enjoyed, and I'm thrilled that there are books out there to suit other people's tastes as well as my own, but I hope to increasingly see more of all varieties of body types, ages, and amounts of body hair in m/m stories.
I only learned in recent years that the type of man I preferred could be referred to as a bear. I think that term is quite fitting, because one thing I like about these big hairy men is that they aren't afraid of being an animal which, of course, all humans truly are. Rather than having to shave, buff, and polish away their connections to the animal kingdom, they're not afraid to let their fur show and even to put on some winter weight.
These men aren't afraid of their natural state, and they defy the youthful man-scaped icon they are "supposed" to revere. I believe women should be comfortable in their own bodies without having to starve themselves or spend hours grooming, waxing, and re-creating themselves before going out in public. Men, be they gay or straight, should be afforded that freedom as well.
I find the contrast of textures, the implied wildness or animalness of bears appealing both sexually and as a writer. Many of my stories include shape-shifters, and one of the things I like about these stories is the chance to explore our animal nature. My shifters show some of their animal characteristics in their human form whether it's an alpha wolf's desire to dominate, or a deer's tendency to stomp his foot as a signal of approaching danger.
My shifters are visceral creatures, unafraid of smelling, touching, and tasting the things – or people - they enjoy. They're comfortable in their bodies, unhampered by modesty or societal standards. They like things rough whether at work or play, and they don't mind getting dirty. When I imagine a man who would have an alternate animal form, I picture a bear, even if I'm casting him as a werewolf or a panther.
After a discussion with another writer about bears, I came across this picture. 

I decided immediately that he was a bear shifter, and I wanted to write his story. A week or so later, I was pondering what to write for my next Protect and Serve story which would feature Police Lieutenant Seth Morrison. As I pictured Seth in my mind, I realized he was a bear. Suddenly, I knew what to do. The bear and the bear shifter. I would pair Seth with the man in the picture. And thus, Paws on Me, was born. I had several weeks of fur-covered fun as I got to know my characters. Here's how Seth describes Brandon when he sees him at a crime scene:

I step away from Brandon and turn to face him. He grins down at me, that same cocky-as-fuck little smile he’d given me earlier, making me even more aware of how close we are and how big he is. At 6’2”, I’m hardly small, but he’s got several inches on me. And while I’ve got a rather thick pelt, the fur visible above the vee of his t-shirt is astounding.

I thoroughly enjoyed writing about these two men who weren't at all afraid of their animal needs. And now for a sexy excerpt…..

Protect and Serve: Paws on Me by Silvia Violet

Lieutenant Seth Morrison loves being a cop, but with budget cuts and crime both on the rise, he’s stopped making time for anything but his job.
On the outside, Brandon Lord is an easy-going, flirtatious club owner. On the inside he’s a man trying to overcome a difficult past.
When a murder investigation brings the two men together, passion roars to life. They’re both willing to break the rules to be together. Because as mismatched as they might seem, each man is exactly what the other needs.
“How’s your leg?” I mean to distract myself but as soon as I ask, I wish I hadn’t. I remember the feel of his thigh under my hand, hard muscles, soft flesh, coarse hair. So many textures to think about. Such a deep abiding need to lick and bite. Fuck. I can’t let him stay here.
“Better. By tomorrow I probably won’t feel much.”
“Good. I need to talk to you about the case. Maybe we should move to the living room.”
He looks so disappointed I almost change my mind, but I can’t let the longing in his eyes distract me. He sits up and swings his legs off the bed. The bandage catches on the sheet and rips loose, tearing away part of the scab and plenty of hair. “Shit!” he yells. Blood wells up and trickles down his leg.
Later, I can’t decide why I ran across the room. It wasn’t like he was going to bleed to death. Did my subconscious push me to make a move that would get us in bed together? Surely I understood where touching him again would lead. We reached for the bandage at the same time. My hand lay on his as we used pressure to stop the bleeding.
“That was dumb. I should have been more careful. I…” His words trail off. I look up. Our faces are inches apart. My heart pounds. I know how supremely stupid I would be to kiss him, but I can’t help it. His lips beg me to take a taste. I close the distance between us and swipe my tongue across his lips, savoring his woodsy flavor. “I need this,” I mumble against his lips.
“God, yes. So bad.” He opens his mouth, and we devour each other. I forget who I am, where I am. I forget that his leg is bleeding, and I’m supposed to be holding the bandage on. I sink to my knees between his legs and cup his face with my other hand, pulling him down so I can explore every inch of his mouth. I slide my tongue along his, growing more desperate for him every second. My hand tightens on his thigh, and he flinches, forcing me back to reality. I let go of him and sit back, breath coming in pants. “Fuck, this is so wrong.”
Brandon shakes his head and cups me under the chin, forcing me to look at him. “I don’t know if I’ve ever done anything this right.”
The intensity in his eyes scares me. I start to pull away. What am I doing? Wrecking everything I’ve worked for? I can’t fuck a man who’s involved in my case.
Brandon squeezes my arms, immobilizing me. “Stop thinking. Stop analyzing everything with that fucking cop’s brain. Just feel.”
I’m not used to being with anyone stronger than me. But I like the way he’s holding me, refusing to let me go. Having a man like him -- young, hot, cool, seductive -- wanting me goes to my head. He makes me forget all the rules, makes me let down barriers I’ve held in place my whole life. I can’t stop.
I kiss him again. My mouth is brutal in its assault. He could easily take control, but he opens to me, letting me have him my way. He tastes rich and smoky like a campfire, like fall. I suddenly want to do more than kiss and fuck him. I want to take him to my favorite restaurant, introduce him to the best coffee in the city, take him boating on the river. I want a fucking relationship.
The thought nearly frightens me into backing away, but he tastes and feels too damn good. I run my hands over his chest, enjoying the feel of his fur. I release his mouth and nibble his throat, his collarbone, his shoulder. I sink my teeth into one of his muscular pecs. He growls and pushes his hands into my hair, pressing my face against his chest. “More.”
I bite him again, harder this time, sucking at his flesh, wanting to mark him. He digs his fingers into my scalp, groaning and rubbing his body against mine. I circle his wrists with my hands as I lick at the bruise I made. He lets me pin his hands to the mattress and keep them there. I slide lower and rub my face against the thick hair covering the center of his chest, loving the feel of it brushing my face and catching in my beard. I take a deep breath of his musk.
Then I drop to my knees. “Don’t move.” I release his hands. I’m eager to feel Brandon’s cock in my mouth. I want to know what sounds he’ll make as I suck him and whether he’ll let me remain in charge.

You can find me on the web at Don't forget to leave a comment for a chance to win a .pdf of Paws on Me.

Check out the rest of the Bear Talk Blog Hop!!

Mon. FEB. 27
Louisa Bacio will be with Johnny Miles

Tues. FEB 28
Kayla Jameth will be with Ike Rose
Johnny Miles will be with Silvia Violet

Wed. FEB. 29
Margie Church will be HERE!
Hank Edwards will be with Kayla Jameth

Thurs. MAR. 1
Deanna Wadsworth will be with Hank Edwards
Tom Webb will be with Louisa Bacio

Fri. MAR. 2
Ike Rose will be with Margie Church
Yours truly will be with Deanna Wadsworth

Friday, February 24, 2012

Friendly Friday - Featuring Vicktor Alexander


When I start writing a book, I don’t go into it with the idea that I’m going to write something that’s dark, gritty, or deals with issues that I think people need to be aware of. I write, just to write. However, with every book, every story, every blog post, I see that world changer side of me poking through. Writing a book where one of the main characters is a cross-dresser, who’d been in an abusive relationship and then saves himself, was not my initial idea when I started writing Inconceivable. A book that deals with racism, transphobia, deafness, human trafficking, and adoption was not my initial idea when I started writing Unassumed. These are things that just happen. I can’t be too upset about it though, I have spent my life trying to figure out ways to change the world for the better, to help others, to save the world from bigotry, hatred, intolerance, poverty, disease, starvation, persecution, abuse, and human rights violations.

For me, it started when I was in the tenth grade. I was a troubled teen, fifteen years old, going on sixteen, addicted to drugs and hard liquor, running away from the demons and the pain of my past, of my then present, and my completely uncertain future. I was Richard from Unthinkable, a dancer, trying to escape the harsh realities of my life. I was Tommy, from Inconceivable, I felt like a cross-dresser every time I put on women’s clothes, in and out of abusive relationships, desperately wanting someone to see the real me, and determined to not let the ominous clouds ruin my part. I am Michael and Howell, from Unassumed. Michael, the transgender character who has a disability, desperately wanting someone, the right one, to love the real me, seeking acceptance, craving a true family of my own. Howell, the only black cowboy from the Tate Pack series [so far], whose past haunts him and makes him simultaneously want to hold those he loves close to him and also push them away to keep them and his own heart safe. Howell, for whom responsibility is just another opportunity to fuck up and who has no problem going the extra mile for someone who needs him. There’s Alex, from Impossible, whose love and talent for singing is one of the only things stopping him from falling over the deep end and whose mind is fixated on saving the children who he’d promised to take care of. Then there’s Maurice, from Untouchable, whose past is wrought with abuse, sex slavery, drugs, alcohol, betrayal, lies, pain, sadness, heartbreak, hurt, grief, anger, rage, suicide, death, hopelessness who is so much stronger than he can ever fully realize, who is just looking for that one person who will love him in spite of all the scars, physically, emotionally, spiritually and mentally.

Each of these characters I see myself in, each of them has taken a piece of my soul and a fragment of my spirit and laid it bare for people to read, review, criticize, critique, manhandle, poke, prod, jeer at, despise, insult, compliment, hate and love. I think that’s why every book has those issues in it. It’s the reason why my The Dom series starts off in Mark Me dealing with interracial romance, gay romance, homophobia, racism, BDSM, sadism, masochism, abuse, fear, and acceptance. These are the truths of our society. The truths of our world. I sometimes wish I could write a fluff novel, a story where the issues aren’t as deep as they are in the Damien & Roman series that deals with transphobia, racism, bigotry, acceptance, love, families, religious fanatics, surgeries, insurance, health and prejudice.

There are days where I wish that I could write something that wasn’t so heavy, something that didn’t seek to grab the heart of the reader and squeeze it. However, every time I start writing, my heart gets involved and I sneak in those issues, hoping to change someone’s life, hoping to change someone’s way of thinking. Hoping to be able to affect someone’s life the way LA Witt with Static and Carol Lynne with Hawk’s Landing changed mine. I think that’s something that some people miss when it comes to my books. They look for the shallow issues, or the ones that are a little deep but not too much, they don’t realize that I’m not seeking their minds. I’m not going after the top layer of their heart. I want my characters and my books to so embed themselves inside of the reader that the reader is rubbing their chest, affected.

Yes, I want them to get turned on by my copious amounts of sex, lube, cocks, balls, teeth, tongue, lips and orgasms. Yes, I want them to sigh over the love the characters find and fight for. Yes I want them to laugh and smile. But, when it’s all over, I want them to feel touched, I want them to be moved, I want them to be changed. Forever changed.

I am not seeking the mind of the reader, I’m seeking the heart, and I think that’s the reason why, no matter what my intentions are when I start writing anything, I always end up writing something else entirely. But I can’t say that it’s a bad thing. It’s my chance and my opportunity to leave a mark on this world, even if it is a small one.

-Vicktor Alexander

Thursday, February 23, 2012

Pimpin' Fellow Author Kimber An

Hi folks! Today I'm pimpin' a fellow Noble Romance author - Kimber An, and her story "Drive By Valentine!"


Pushing thirty on Valentine’s Day, Eve realizes her desperate search for love has led to nothing but misery.  Then, she takes a chance on a little old lady who’s famous for finding the perfect guy for every girl just by looking at his truck. 


Eve laid a hand on the highly polished brass doorknob, twisted, pushed, and stepped over the threshold alone. The smell of fine leather and oil filled her nose, and a little panic nearly made her step back outside. If her mother knew what she was up to, visiting this little antique automobile store the night before Valentine's Day, she'd just die. Going there was a desperate act, but the girls at work didn't know anything about the tiny town in the middle of nowhere that Eve discovered quite by accident. And if they didn't know, Mom would never find out. She planted her feet like trees and beheld the dazzling sight of an old car painted candy-apple red. Ropes made of a deeper red velvet, curtained the vehicle off from curious fingers.

"1926 Model-T," said a raspy-voiced woman. "My Tommy's first and still in mint condition."

Eve lifted her eyes and saw the hunched-back old lady standing behind an ancient, brass-trimmed cash register, which, undoubtedly, did not have any kind of scanner or other modern bells and whistles. Eve figured she better introduce herself. "My name is Eve and I . . . I'm looking for a . . . ."

"Husband. Yes, I know." The wizened senior had long, gray hair streaked with black and pulled into a beaded barrette. She wore a faded denim shirt and a gold, heart-shaped locket lay against her collarbone.

Eve felt blood rushing through vessels all over her face until her ears burned. The old woman came close to hitting the mark. Eve hadn't gone there looking for a husband, exactly, but a date for Valentine's Day sure would be nice.

"My name is Sofia." She hobbled around the counter on a cane.

Sounds Mexican. Eve pondered the old woman pulling a chamois cloth from her pocket.

"Italian, actually. Papa worked in a Lamborghini factory, and Mama smashed her Fairlane through the storefront because, she said, he was gorgeous." Sofia ran fingers over the hood of a pink convertible and then turned her attention to a dark blue Mustang. Both vehicles stood behind ropes, just like the Model-T.

"Oh." Eve took a few steps and scanned the store for a face-saving excuse for being there. Old, polished planks squeaked beneath her high heels, and the display cases shone with fine wood and glass. Chrome wheels and trophies from antique automobile shows hung on the walls. "I was driving through, when I noticed your sign."

"Uh huh. I see. What kind of husband are you looking for?" Sofia tenderly polished the Mustang's fender.

"I'm not . . . ." Eve's thoughts rushed back to the girls' chattering about their plans for Valentine's Day. She'd overheard Mary Alice tell Rachael that she'd bet five dollars Eve wouldn't have a date, that she'd probably be sitting at home, by herself. Silently, Eve placed her own bet; she'd find someone to go out with tomorrow, if it were the last thing she'd do. Then she'd left work early, claiming a headache, and driven aimlessly until she'd stumbled upon this tiny little town a couple hours outside the city.

"You won't find what you're looking for until you're sure of what you need." Sofia interrupted Eve's morose thoughts.

Eve focused directly on the old woman's eyes and decided to play dumb. What had she been thinking, going there? "I . . . I don't know what—"

"I think maybe you do. Otherwise, you wouldn't be here. We only need to draw it out. Tommy and I fell in love in that 1955 pink Cadillac." She nodded toward the convertible. "Papa was a mechanic, you see, and I always helped him."

Eve turned her attention from the Caddie to the wall of framed photographs behind the cash register. She studied the top portrait; black and white, the picture showed a grinning bride and groom standing before an old car just like the Model-T. Each picture below showed them aging together in front of yet another antique automobile, until finally, Sofia stood alone beside a gravestone in a cemetery, the Model-T parked in the background.

"We knew what we needed and we found it together." Sofia's statement brought the real issue into focus.

Eve tried to stop wringing her fingers and bit her lower lip instead. What would she like in a husband? "I suppose it would be nice to find someone successful and charming."

Sofia stopped polishing and looked Eve up and down. "That's what your girlfriends have, so that's what you think you need too. But, I don't think that's it at all."

Sound cool?  Well, what are you waiting for? Buy it HERE

Life's a Drag

Today I want to talk about one of my favorite things—drag shows. I absolutely love going. There's such a fun, flirtations feeling in the air. The performers are beautiful, and their outfits are so creative. From ball gowns to sexy little fishnets, there's nothing like watching a man twirl around on teensy tiny high heels.

Half the time, if forget they're actually men under there. I think that's because I'm such a visually stimulated person. I don’t need to know what the plumbing looks like in order to be attracted to a person. Plus, I'm an ass man and there's always at least one nice round ass on display.

Another reason I like drag shows is that I find men in frilly women's clothing sexy as hell. My computer in my writing office has shots of hunky men in lacy panties and fancy skirts. Oh. Wow. Nothing's sexier. Maybe that's due to my own gender issues, but I don't care. Men in drag are S.E.X.Y. I mean, think about it. Imagine the sexiest guy you know. Maybe he's the hot fireman downtown. Maybe he's the geeky guy at the bookstore. Maybe he's the slightly plump guy next door, with chest hair that just won't quit. Now imagine him shimmying out of his jeans (or his slacks, or his sweatpants, or his whatever-the-hell-you-want-him-to-be-wearing) and imagine those pants coming down to reveal frilly, lacy red panties…or silky satin white panties with a sweet little pink bow. Tell me that doesn't get you going!

I know plenty of women who think drag shows are unnatural and odd. I've even heard a woman say drag queens were just out to steal men from "real women." Funny, but a lot of the drag queens I know are in committed relationships. Some of them are even married. (You know we can legally do that in a few states now.) They've already got their own men, and they don't need yours, honey. ::snap:: Shock of all shocks, I even know a heterosexual drag queen who is married to a woman. Not every guy in a dress is trying to get in your hubby's pants, darlin'.

I find, though, that a fair amount of men don't like drag shows either; my own husband being one of them. Don't get me wrong—my husband is not homophobic or a bigot. Like me, he's also visually stimulated, but he's very grounded in reality. It takes the fun out of it, for him, because he knows they're not really women. He can't get past that, mentally. So, no matter how pretty she is, she's not a she. If he's going to watch women dance, he wants to watch women. Still in all, he's gone to a few shows with me, and he always enjoys himself. 

My youngest son is a drag queen magnet. He's been to about a dozen or so shows with me, and at every one, he gets attention. He's been petted, pawed, had lap dances, had queens ask other audience members to take their picture with him. I don't know what it is about him. He's always kind and friendly, and isn't really bothered by any of it. He's as baffled as I am about why they pick him, but I think in a way he's probably sort of flattered. Who wouldn't be? 

Although, I'm not sure which is worse—those who don't like drag shows, or those who like them too much. Case in point: I recently went to a show with my son and some friends and coworkers. Things typically start off slow, until either the audience has had a few drinks or one of the queens does a number to a song everyone knows and can sing along to. I contend to this day that you can't fully appreciate "Don't Stop Believin'" by Journey until you've experienced it in a small, dark gay bar, surrounded by drunken audience members singing along at the top of their lungs. 

Anyhow, during the aforementioned show, this one particular man—who was already quite drunk—kept jumping up to hug all the queens. He followed one around during her song. Now, while I was watching the guy in question, from my nice little seat in the corner, I assumed he knew the queens. After all, the drag community around here is fairly close-knit. A lot of people who attend the shows are relatives of the queens and kings, or are their close friends. Then, after speaking to one of the queens I personally know, I find out that not only do none of the queens know this asshat, but he'd also accosted my friend in the bar, grabbed her by the arms and told her she had great legs and that he wanted to hold her down and touch them. 

WTF? I paid closer attention after that, and was amazed at the liberties some people felt entitled to take. I thought to myself, they don't go anywhere else and act like this. What gives them the right to at a drag show? You don't go to McDonalds and tell the guy behind the counter he's cute and you'd like to blow him. You don't go to Wal-Mart and tell the cashier she's wearing nice shoes and you'd like to jack off in them. What the hell gives anyone the right to treat the queens and kings so rudely? True, the queens and kings were being flirty and touchy with some of the audience, but it seemed to be the same people each time—including my table. And then I realized, we were the safe people. The ones who weren't being offensively attentive. 

At one show, I got asked to dinner by one of the queens. She told me something that kind of broke my heart. She said she didn't meet many people like me, who were so truly accepting of her. I couldn't imagine how anyone could look at any of the queens and kings and feel anything but awe. Awe for the talent, the amount of work they put into their bodies and clothing, and the physicality of running around in high heels on the dance floor. And on the other hand, what gives anyone the right to judge anyone else? 

I suppose I always thought of drag shows as something that was all in good fun. Like going to a movie. Why would you attend if it wasn't your thing? I mean, you wouldn't go watch 300 if you didn't like blood and gore, or at the very least, if you weren't okay with it. You wouldn't watch Nightmare on Elm Street if you didn't want to be scared. Why on Earth would you go to a drag show if you weren't one-hundred-percent comfortable with it? 

I spoke to someone recently about this post, and asked his opinion. He's a heterosexual male, married with three kids, big gruff guy, wears a cowboy had and cowboy boots even though he lives in Upstate NY and the closest he's ever gotten to a ranch was watching Dallas in the 1980s. He's kind of a…well…I won't say he's a bigot… ::sigh:: Yeah, I guess actually I will say he's a bigot. So, I asked him. What's the big deal? You're straight. You know it, your wife knows it, everyone in the world knows it. So what if some guy grinds on your hip for two seconds at a show. Who cares? He gave me a line about it threatening how his sexuality is perceived. People might think he was okay with such a thing. And then they might think they could do it to him, too. When I asked who they were, he answered, "You know...gays."

At that point, I think everyone who knows me can imagine how high my left eyebrow arched. So I said to him, "Let me get this clear here. You think that if you sit in a chair, and, due to circumstances beyond your control, a guy dressed as a woman comes over to you and shows you attention, that's open call for every gay man in the joint to pounce on the giant redneck-looking dude with the wife?" 

He kind of sputtered at that, and eventually admitted it was kind of a silly notion. We talked in depth about homosexuality, drag shows, being transgender, etc. Now, this guy has known me for years, and he's been a friend to me despite his closed-minded up bringing, and his lingering homophobic mentality. He's a bigot, but he really is a good guy at heart. He's not one of those people who want us to all fall off the face of the planet. He doesn't support hate crimes, and he thinks everyone in the Westboro Baptist Church is a waste of flesh. He just thinks that a person being in love with and having relations with another person of the same gender is morally wrong and against God. (Some day I'll have to tell you about the theological debates we have.)

I asked him point blank if he felt I was a threat to his perceived sexuality when we hugged. He said of course not, and when I asked why, he said, "Well it's not like you're really a dude. You're just a woman in dude's clothing." (::sigh:: He's never really grasped the whole transgender thing.) Nevertheless, the response was interesting, and I asked him what the difference was between a drag queen and me then?

His answer astonished me. He said, "Because you're supposed to be turned on by drag queens. That's what they're doing. That's the point. They're trying to make you want them. Trying to make you horny. They're trying to trick you into wanting them. Trying to trick you into sinning."

I tried not to laugh. I really, really tried. I asked him if he'd ever considered that being a drag queen was about how the queen felt, and not how the audience felt? Maybe the queens enjoyed how they felt in those costumes. Maybe the attention filled a need—made them feel important and loved. He said he didn't get why they had to dress up in dresses for that. 

I asked him why he dressed the way he dressed. After all, he's not a ranch hand. He's a number cruncher. He doesn't drive a truck. He drives a Toyota Camry. He doesn't live on a ranch. He has a nice two story Tudor style house. He's never even been near a cow, other than at the dairy section in the grocery store, and he'd seriously injure himself if he ever had to ride a horse. So, why the cowboy get up? He answered that those clothes made him feel comfortable. Made him feel like more of a man, and he felt they sent a message to people that he was a badass. 

I asked him why it couldn't be the same for a drag queen? I mean, really…men don't dress up in women's clothing unless they enjoy it. So, yes, it's about the show, but it's also about them feeling pretty. Feeling fabulous. Feeling like they're beautiful. Feeling like they're special. And yes, they're all those things in "real life," but maybe they don't feel it in "real life." Sure, they love the audience attention, when it's appropriate, and they love hearing how people have enjoyed the show, but maybe it's just about trying to find your way in a world that will never fully accept anyone who doesn't fit into a cookie cutter. 

Or maybe it's just about the shiny jewelry, the feathers, and the silky gowns. What the hell do I know? I'm just a woman in dude's clothing, right? :grin::

Naughty After Dark Blog Hop Winner!

WOW! 41 entries! How awesome is that?!?!  You guys ROCK!

And now...the moment you've all been waiting for....(drum roll) the winner is....

Rhonda -!!

Congratulations!!!! I'll be sending you an email shortly, and your gift certificate will arrive via email as well!

Thanks SO MUCH to everyone who participated!!!!

Friday, February 17, 2012

Friendly Friday - Featuring Lydia Nyx!

Hello everyone, I'm Lydia Nyx! First, I want to extend a huge thanks to DC for hosting me on his blog! I'm here to tell you a little bit about the things I write and hopefully make a couple new friends.

I'm a m/m author, but within that genre I write a whole, huge mess of different things. I pen a lot of paranormal stuff, a little horror, some historical, and also some straight (or, not-so-straight) romance and erotica. I don't always write happily-ever-after endings, but a lot of times I do. I have a little something for everyone in my catalog. I guess I'm a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma and all that stuff. Or maybe I just can't stick with one thing or I'd get bored.

I've always been inclined to paranormal stuff, long before I became an erotica author, or even started writing m/m. Most of my work appears in anthologies or as stand-alone short stories, but I have two full-length novels published, one of which is a m/m urban fantasy called Black Shore of the White City. I love urban fantasy because it combines that spooky stuff I've always liked with the romance I've become fond of over the past few years. Also, urban fantasy is sexy! Thrills, chills, mysteries, monsters, and hot fast-paced action and romance all rolled into one--what's not to love?

About Black Shore of the White City:

Jude Coffin enjoys the finer things in life: an exceptional wine, a good whiskey, non-menthol cigarettes, and a cute guy with a great ass. Despite being a Siren, or an 'aural captivator' for the supernaturally correct, he doesn't like paranormal politics, paranormal science, and certainly not paranormal activists.

Despite this, Jude and his similarly supernaturally-endowed twin brother Jason are lured to Chicago to undergo study at the controversial Institute of Supernatural Research. Jude remembers why he stays away from the paranormal world when the Institute takes his brother hostage. His only hope of getting him back is enlisting the help of Micha Bellevue, Chicago's leading paranormal advocate, and Sam Haain, fiery, possibly insane paranormal supremacist. Tangled up with these two clashing and decidedly sexy personalities, Jude gets a look at Chicago he never wanted: a city at war with itself, full of angry supernatural people, conspiracy, and murder. 

I've built an entire world around the story, as it's meant to be the first of a series, and you can check out the Chicago of my universe here: I'm working on the sequel now and it's about three-quarters done. Which really, any writer will tell you: is not nearly close enough to being done!

On the other hand, if you don't like things that go bump in the night, my other full-length novel, From Morocco to Paris, is a contemporary straight-up work of erotica and romance with no ghosts or monsters. I promise! (Except for the ones, of course, inside the character's heads.) It follows an aspiring movie director (currently working as a celebrity assistant) and his struggle with his sexuality via a costumer he meets on the set of the movie his employer is starring in. There are tons of exotic locales and erotic romps:

Zane Reed wants to be a movie director, but first he has to learn the ropes by taking every crap job in the industry. Employed as personal assistant to actor Elliot Butler, Zane hopes to further his education when Elliot works with famed director Saul Brennan on an epic movie about Napoleon Bonaparte. However, Zane gets an education in something else entirely when he meets Davey Alexander, one of the production's costumers.

Davey, vivacious and erotically-charged, shakes reluctant, sexually-confused Zane down to his core. Zane's feelings for Davey quickly grow beyond lust, but the two can't get it together. During filming, from Morocco, to Egypt, to Paris, the two struggle with desire and muddled emotions. In the end, Zane will have to overcome himself if he wants to keep the most intriguing, passionate man he's ever known from walking out of his life.

I don't think I'll ever be able to settle down into once niche. Every spot I try to wedge into, I find myself wiggling around in sooner or later! My latest releases have included a purely historical m/m romance, a contemporary fantasy romance, a suspense thriller, and a dystopian novella set in a post-apocalyptic future. So pick your poison…I've probably written it!


Lydia Nyx is from Cleveland, Ohio. She writes everything from contemporary to historical, as well as paranormal, horror, and urban fantasy, and she prefers all her fiction with a male/male twist. She currently resides in a little apartment with her teenage son and a crazy cat and spends countless hours of the day entertaining the dirty fantasies in her head. As a 'day job' she works as a waitress, which gives her lots of free time to slack off and plot stories. Writing since the age of 13, she has always wanted to be an author, and hopefully one day writing will be her only 'day job.'

Find Lydia at her website
And her blog

Wednesday, February 15, 2012

Valentine's Day Blog Hop Winner(S)!

Okay everyone - you know what time it is --- WINNER TIME! Since I had so many entries (34 - WOW!!) I've decided to pick not one...not two...but THREE winners!! I've put the names in a hat (yes, I really do write the names down and stick them in a hat!) and here are the winners:

Winner #1: ~Ley (ashley.vanburen[at]gmail[dot]com)

Winner #2: Renee’ S.  (PaParanormalFan )

Winner #3: Terri (

Congratulations everyone!!!!!!!!!! I'll be contacting you by e-mail shortly!

I'm participating in a TON more hops (see the links on my sidebar) so if you didn't win tonight, there's a bunch more chances!!

Naughty After Dark Blog Hop

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Tuesday, February 14, 2012

Please Welcome Special Guest Vicktor Alexander!

At First Glance
By: Vicktor Alexander

The first time that I ever remember “seeing” Daniel, it was in a group on Goodreads, on a thread for members and authors of the group to mention their Twitter names. I remember seeing “shiki_boy” and thinking instantly that he was Indian…like from India. It took me a few days to realize that that was a bad preconceived notion and I felt duly shamefaced. The first time that I remember talking to him was on a different thread, in that same group, after I’d gone to welcome people to the group and I had “given” them all virtual bags full of floggers, whips, canes, paddles, lubes, condoms, etc. Daniel had asked me where his bag was and after I chuckled at him, I “gave” him one as well.

That was really when I saw him the first time. I would see his name pop up and read his comments but none of it really registered for me. He was some friendly, young man who was a part of the same book group that I was and I thought he was sweet, innocent and funny. I thought that we could be friends, but that was it. However, that first real exchange between us sparked off some neurons in my brain and I found myself looking for him in this group, looking forward to answering questions that he had or talking with him about nothing, and looking for him on Twitter. A friend of mine was the first one to tell me that I liked him, to which I pointed out, “I don’t even know the kid.” That apparently didn’t matter. When I decided to start two threads, one about being transgender, so that authors could have the same resources and ask questions for their books, and one about “poker, sex, Doms and toys”, or ways of spicing up a relationship, as well as dispelling myths about the BDSM Lifestyle, he was one of the first people to comment on both threads.

We got to be friends fairly quickly and it was so easy to talk to him about stupid things. When he started looking for Doms in his area that was the first time, in a long time, that I heard myself growl. Yes, just like a wolf or dangerous Rottweiler, I growled when I read that he was talking to and arranging meetings with Doms. I felt rather bad about it, seeing as how I was dating someone else at the time, and when my friends Jamie and Jerome asked me about it, I told them that it was just because I didn’t think he was being safe. The truth of the matter is, my soul, my spirit man (which even when I was a kid I was told that my spirit guide was a wolf) had already claimed Daniel as mine, my brain and heart just hadn’t caught up. I gave him pointers and encouraged him, told him what to be aware of and what to shy away from and when he went off on these meetings and I sat at home with my own boyfriend, I found my mind filled with thoughts and images of “The English Sub.”

When I moved to New York, single, free of the constraints of my biological family and their ideas of what is or is not acceptable, Daniel and I had begun talking and flirting on Twitter. I didn’t have to feel guilty about it anymore because I was single. Some part of my brain, I am very aware, had decided that I was going to stop at nothing to “win” Daniel and claim him as my own. I don’t know if I can say that I have “game,” but I do know that when I want something, I am rather blunt about it. Very open and honest. I wasn’t pulling punches with him, I was focused and determined. I didn’t know how it was going to work with him living in England and me living in New York, but all I knew was that he was mine.

Our relationship moved pretty fast after that and I know that it scared us both. To the point where there was a freak-out on both of our parts, but as I was talking to my writing group and talking about “straight” men who fall in love with “gay” men, I said that “Love is love. It will not be restricted by gender, race, time, class, religion education, wealth or lack thereof, physical appearance or society’s rules and expectations of what is acceptable. It doesn’t give a flying fuck. Love is just love.” I remember those words reaching out from my computer screen and slapping me around. Who was I to tell love that my relationship with Daniel was happening too fast? Who was I to tell love that there was no way that Daniel could be the one for me when we hadn’t known each other that long?

In my heart of hearts I know that some kind of way, Daniel and I would have still found each other. Our souls and hearts would have pulled us towards each other eventually because they are so intertwined and connected. I know when he needs to go to bed because I will start to get sleepy (and when it’s 8pm and you’re getting tired, you know there’s something wrong with that), he knows when I’m sick because he’ll feel it (“My stomach just started hurting for no reason today at work”). I think the moment I knew that we were meant for each other was one day I was coming home from a doctor’s appointment and I kept thinking about him, but every time I did, I would feel this pounding in my head. I knew that something was wrong with him, but wasn’t sure what it was. I got home and he’d had a bad day at work and had needed to talk to me.

As close as we are and as connected, we both sort of tensed up at the whole “Valentine’s Day” thing. I got him a present, but didn’t see the point in mailing it when I’d be seeing him a few weeks after that. Then the doubt set in, did I get the right thing? Was he going to like it? Was I going to have to sit around and listen to how “cheesy” I was for an hour after he saw it? Then I thought back to our first few conversations. I thought back to when I first saw him and while at first glance he seems like someone who would need a diamond platinum, jewel encrusted laptop as a gift, I knew that if I sent him a few paperback books or games or even the fruit flavored water that he calls “tea,” that he’d appreciate it.

So that’s the whole point to this post. Every year I see people scrambling around, trying to find the perfect, most expensive thing for their significant other, but that’s not what it’s about. This day that I used to call “Single Awareness Day,” is about showing to your significant other just how much they mean to you. There’s no better way of doing that then by showing them that you’ve listened to them as they’ve rambled on and on about nothing and you heard when they said that as a kid they had a yellow teddy bear that was lost in the hurricanes down South and you go and buy them another yellow teddy bear or you hear them say that they love playing a particular computer game and so you go and buy the newest release of that.

Valentine’s Day is simple because love, though powerful and all-consuming, is simple. Love simply states, “You are my beloved and I am yours.” That’s it, end of story. The rest of it is details and semantics. I love you, but this is what I believe. I love you, but this is what I want. I love you, but I need this. While the “course of true love never did run smooth” according to Shakespeare, I am a firm believer of love conquering all, if all of the parties involved truly want it too.

So while the love of my life will be in England today and I will be in New York, we both know that this will be the last year that we celebrate Valentine’s Day apart, because even if I have to move over to England and learn to spell donuts as doughnuts and traveling as travelling and call French fries “chips”, I know that I want to be with him. No matter what the insecurities and the doubts and the hesitations and fear on both of our parts, neither of us wants to or will give the other one up unless we think the other would be happier without us, which of course makes the other one of us stand up and call bullshit.

Enjoy the love of your life today, even if the love of your life is yourself for the time being. Let them know what they mean to you, let them know that you care. And for fuck’s sake, if you get them chocolate and they’re on a diet, do the courteous thing and help them eat them.

-Vicktor Alexander