Smutketeers

For some reason the theme of many of my discussions lately seems to be anal sex. It’s come up over and over, which I am beginning to take as some sort of cosmic message. I’m not complaining-I’m learning a lot! Which is coming in handy lately (and that’s as much TMI as you’re getting from me today).
For those of you who have done it or would like to, give me your thoughts! Do you like it, hate it? Is it something you’ll do for your partner but aren’t exactly thrilled about it? Is it scary to you? Does it make you feel vulnerable? Emotional? Dirty? Does my talking about it make you feel dirty? I gotta say, it makes me feel dirty, but in a good way. I think. It’s a topic I’m trying to become more comfortable with, and I need your help! No-not that kind of help-I just want to discuss it in an open and mature fashion. Um..maybe ‘mature’ isn’t entirely necessary.
So-who among you is brave enough to come of the blogosphere closet and dish with me about anal? Give me your thoughts, rants, suggestions (What’s the best lube? Best toys?). I want to hear it all!
Meanwhile, here is one of my favorite YouTube videos ever! (WARNING-adult and possibly offensive content!)

I ran across an article over on EW.com by Stephen King called Who Says Real Men Don’t Read?

Being a female and writer, I like that the market seems to be open to females, which it really wasn’t even twenty or thirty years ago, but I also don’t like the imbalance either way. As a librarian, I want boys to read as much as girls. Then again, it’s kind of obvious they misinterpret the romance/ women’s fiction market (nothing new there). Anyway…thoughts? Weigh in!

Here’s the text:

If you catch publishing types in a ”don’t quote me” mood, they’ll tell you the male audience for fiction is disappearing. Agents and editors are constantly on the lookout for the next hot female writer, and why not? At the end of August, 7 of the 10 New York Times hardcover fiction bestsellers were by women, and that doesn’t even include Stephenie Meyer’s mega-selling Breaking Dawn (which the Times considers kid lit, thus not meriting a place on the adult list).

But, to misquote Mark Twain, reports of the male reader’s death have been greatly exaggerated. Women have chick lit; guys have what my son Joe (as in Joe Hill) calls ”manfiction.” And publishers sell it by the ton. Here’s a concept so simple it’s easy to miss: What men want from an Elmore Leonard novel is exactly what women want from a Nora Roberts novel — escape and entertainment. And while it’s true that manfiction can be guilty of objectifying women, chick lit often does the same thing to men. Reading Sandra Brown or Jodi Picoult, I’m sometimes reminded of an old Julie Brown song, ”I Like ‘Em Big and Stupid.” One memorable couplet goes, ”My father’s out of Harvard, my brother’s out of Yale/Well, the guy I took home last night just got out of jail.”

Is this a bad thing? From an entertainment standpoint, I’d say not. Women like stories in which a gal meets a handsome (and possibly dangerous) hunk on a tropic isle; men like to imagine going to war against an army of bad guys with a Beretta, a blowtorch, and a submachine gun (grenades hung on the belt optional).

And current manfiction certainly gives women a better deal than they got in the pulps of yesteryear, when most were presented as barracuda debs in frilly negligees. Robert B. Parker, who chronicles the hard-bitten exploits of that manfiction avatar Spenser (no first name), is also the creator of Sunny Randall, a PI who has had her own hard-bitten exploits. And while it’s easy to become exasperated with Spenser’s longtime partner, Susan Silverman, sooner or later Spenser and his pal Hawk always spring into action. Often with a .38 or a .12-gauge shotgun.

Alex Delaware, Jonathan Kellerman’s entry in the manfiction sweeps, also has a longtime female companion. Robin Castagna is less annoying than the navel-gazing Ms. Silverman, but both need rescuing from time to time, and saving the damsel in distress has been a satisfying part of good manfiction since the days of old when knights were bold and ladies fair went without their underwear. Also, Alex has a gay sidekick, Milo Sturgis. If that doesn’t make him a 21st-century dude, what does?

The fathers of modern manfiction would be Dashiell Hammett, Raymond Chandler, and John D. MacDonald, creator of the world’s first boat-bum PI. MacDonald’s Travis McGee ruled the best-seller lists during the years when reading Playboy was still cool, and may have been the first continuing male character to see women as people rather than just as potential bed partners. Not that Travis was any slouch in bed; he specialized in a form of sexual healing mortal men (such as your faithful correspondent) could only admire. In the 21 McGee novels, the guy must have sexually healed over 200 women. Take that, Dr. Laura!

The best current manfiction writers? I’d say Michael Connelly, Robert Crais, Richard Stark, and Lee Child. Connelly’s Harry Bosch is a dogged cop who takes on the LAPD power structure as often as the bad guys. His current girlfriend, a very liberated woman, is an FBI agent. Crais’ creations — Elvis Cole and Joe Pike — are as tough as the combat boots they used to wear. Richard Stark’s Parker (also no other name) is refreshingly amoral, a thief who always gets away with the swag. In the series’ most recent books he has gained a little warmth thanks to Claire, his own longtime companion.

I saved the best for last. Lee Child’s tough but humane Jack Reacher is the coolest continuing series character now on offer. Reacher has also rescued his share of damsels in distress. He wanders the U.S., sometimes hitchhiking, more often riding buses. He dresses in cheap workingman’s duds bought in chain stores, pays cash, and (this is the part I really love) he used to carry only a toothbrush for luggage. He satisfies the most elemental male daydream, which is at bottom quite sweet: to ramble around and help out when help is needed. Possibly with a Beretta, a blowtorch, and a submachine gun.

Grenades optional.

This Tuesday, November 11th, listen to my interview on Sirius Satellite’s Playboy Radio’s Night Calls with adult superstar Christy Canyon! I’ll be talking about my October release, FORBIDDEN FRUIT, which was recently profiled in Cosmopolitan magazine’s Red Hot Reads. I’ll be on around 5:00PM PST. I never know what will happen on the air-Playboy is always tons of fun! Should be interesting…I might read an excerpt, give sex advice on the air, or whatever Christy thinks of-and believe me, she has a vivid imagination! This is my food fetish book ,and I plan to bring Christy a basket of strawberries and whipped cream…Stop by if you can.

Meanwhile, check out my interview online at Joyfully Reviewed!

FORBIDDEN FRUIT, my sexy, sensual food fetish book, is out today! Look for it on Amazon, Barnes & Noble online, Borders online, or at your local bookstores!

I had such a great time writing this book. My favorite research materials were whipped cream and strawberries, which I plan to take with me to my Playboy Radio interview on November 11th-stay tuned for details!

I really tuned into the sensual aspects of food while writing this book; food is one of the great sensual pleasures in life, for me, anyway. What are yours? A steamy bath? Silk pajamas? I’m sure some of you have ideas I haven’t thought of…I hope you’ll share!

While you’re thinking about it, here’s the blurb for FORBIDDEN FRUIT:

Sometimes the forbidden…
is irresistible…

One taste is never enough.

For university professor Mia Rose Curry, it was all academic: her course in alternate sexuality was a safe, socially-acceptable way for her to talk about the things she desires most—but has never let herself experience. And while students crammed into her class to learn about fetishes, bondage, voyeurism and much more, Mia kept her own raging desires, and her most private fantasies, carefully under wraps…until one student undressed her with his eyes…
Jagger James is everything Mia wants and everything taboo, yet Mia can’t help imagining drawing closer and closer to this forbidden fruit. She soon discovers how much Jagger wants her, demanding she abandon every inhibition with him. Now, they are about to take a dangerous step, tempting each other’s flesh, savoring every touch and breaking every rule in the book—knowing that this dazzling, sensual feast is only a taste of something more to come…

And just for my blog readers, an excerpt from the book:

“That was an amazing meal, Jagger. Thank you.”
“It was my pleasure. I have dessert back at my place.”
“Oh, I don’t…I don’t think I should.”
“You’ll be ready for something sweet by the time we get there. Or we can sit and have some more wine first.”
“No, I don’t mean…Jagger, I shouldn’t go back to your place. I don’t think it’s a good idea. I need to figure some things out before I…” She trailed off, too unsure of what she needed to say, what she needed to do.
“It’s alright. I understand. I’ll walk you to your car, then.”
She nodded, half grateful he hadn’t argued the point with her and half wishing he had.
God, you really are a mess.
They moved down the street, the night air cool on her face, but Jagger’s presence was warm next to her. As they walked, he took her hand, just a gentle twining of fingers around hers. It felt good. Better than it should have, and the sensation wasn’t entirely sexual. It was more, a different kind of heat that moved through her chest, loosened her up inside. Opened her up.
They reached her car, a silver Mini Cooper, parked only a few doors down from Jagger’s building, a little too quickly.
“This is me.” She tried to drop his hand, but he held on.
“Come upstairs with me, Mia Rose,” Jagger said softly.
She wanted to. Every cell in her body wanted nothing more than to go upstairs with him, to let him kiss her again, touch her. She blew out a long breath, leaned back against the passenger door of her car.
“I can’t, Jagger.”
“Alright. But I’m not going to let you go without kissing you.”
He leaned in, and she found herself lifting her face to his, her mind emptying even before his mouth met hers. Then it was just the cool, plush texture of his lips on hers, that soft press of flesh upon flesh. Her hands went around his neck, his skin so hot and smooth there, and he moved in closer, leaning into her, the weight of his body pressing her into the car. When his tongue moved her lips apart, he slid inside. She went soft and loose all over, her breasts aching for more than the hard press of his chest against hers, with the layers of sweater between them.
In moments she was panting, wet. And he deepened the kiss, the heat of his mouth making her crazy. She wanted him. Wanted him to fuck her. Right there. Right now.
His hips were hard up against hers, and that solid ridge of flesh pushed against her belly.
God.
Her hips tilted, her sex filled, throbbed, wanting, wanting. But she wasn’t supposed to be doing this.
She was not supposed to be doing this.
He kissed her harder, wet and hurting, bruising her lips. His hands gripped her waist, his fingers biting into her, and all she wanted was more. God, she could almost come if he only kissed her long enough, just kissed her like this.
He pulled back, brushed her hair with his lips, with his cheek. He was breathing as hard as she was. He still had her up against the car, his body pressing her against the cold steel. His hands slid down over her hips, dug in again. She couldn’t have moved even if he hadn’t been holding her so tightly. She could barely breathe. She didn’t want to.
“Jagger…”
“Fuck. I’m sorry, Mia Rose.”
“No. That’s not it.”
“What, then?” He looked down at her, his eyes glittering in the silvery light of the street lamp a few feet away.
The words came out on a half whisper.
“I don’t want you to stop.”
***********

FORBIDDEN FRUIT was a Romantic Times Top Pick, and a Recommended Read at Fallen Angels Reviews! Here’s what people are saying about FORBIDDEN FRUIT:

“Eden Bradley has written one of the best erotic romances I have read this year…”
~Fallen Angels Reviews

“…Bradley delivers the goods. There is intense intimacy and heart-wrenching emotions… This is delicious and delightful from the first page until the conclusion.”
~Romantic Times

“Graphic, loving, and incredibly well-written, the sex scenes ratchet up the drama with unbelievable intensity…sexual desire intertwines with emotional intensity, resulting in a book you won’t want to put down…A thoroughly delightful read. Don’t miss FORBIDDEN FRUIT.”
~Romance Junkies
* * *

I have to say, I rarely point at other people and say it’s their fault I am the way I am. True, they may have been a putz, but I’m responsible for how I let it affect me.

In this case, I’m making an exception.

I’m talking about what made me try my hand at the smuttiest of smut kind of writing. Yes, in this case, I blame Eden (though not because she was a putz, of course).

Until I met her, I’d never read anything dirty other than The Sleeping Beauty series. Now, what haven’t I read? Moreover, what haven’t I written?

It really was a series of unfortunate events. I started out writing comedy. Paranormal chick lit. There wasn’t even much in the way of sex. And then I started talking to Eden on the phone. Listening to her talk about her writing made me try my hand at it. She was the corrupting influence that lead to all manner of perversions on my part.

And don’t think Feisty and R.G. are blameless–they encourage me to greater levels of depravity.

It’s quite sad, actually. I’m doomed!

In any case, I had to get that off my chest and make sure you all know, when it doubt: It’s All Eden’s Fault.

Yes, I know…I’m a day late announcing the winners. Don’t worry, the other Smutketeers will find suitable ways to punish me! (No, Feisty, you may not video record that!)

Without further ado, since I’ve kept you in anticipation so long, here are the winners:

Eden’s winners:

Email eden_bradley @ yahoo.com (no spaces) to claim your prize!

Jambrea
Chris Roberts
Deidre

RG’s winners:

Email r.g.alexander @ hotmail.com (no spaces) to claim your prize!

Ms. Priss
Deidre
Sandie

Crystal’s winners:

Email crystal @ crystaljordan.com (no spaces) to claim your prize!

Deidre
Vivienne Westlake
Lindsey Ekland

Feisty’s winners:

Email lilli @ lillianfeisty.com (no spaces) to claim your prize!

Deidre
Melissa Blue
Leigh Royals

So, for participating in all our contests, we decided that Deidre should make out like a bandit. Congrats to all our winners!

We’ve had a few complaints from people who haven’t been able to log on and participate in the contests over the weekend, so just for them we have decided to extend all four opening days contests! Winners will be chosen and announced on Wednesday, October 8th. This means you can still enter any of the contests: my Name the Smutketeers contest on the October 1st post, R.G.’s TV Theme Song contest on the October 2nd post, Crystal’s Male Call contest on the October 3rd post, or Feisty’s Talk Dirty to Me contest on the October 4th post. Win books and other goodies-enter now!

As time moves on, I think you might discover that I, Ms. ‘Lil Feisty, tend to be, well, the smuttiest female of the Smutketeer group. This is a natural occurrence, and no matter how I try, I just can’t seem to help myself from being naughty. I’ve been known to make even the most practiced man blush, often at the most inopportune moment. Oh yes, I’ll never forget the night I broke my leg. Even with multiple fractures, I could still make the cheeks of the on call-doctor turn a bright, rosy pink. It’s amazing what a pair of knee socks can do for a girl. Yes, definitely one of my shining moments.

So, dear reader, my task for you now is to say something dirty to me. That’s right. Whoever can make me giggle, or dare I say it? blush, will be the winner this day. And if you can’t think of anything dirty at the moment, give me a line from an erotic book, yours or otherwise. So go on now, talk dirty to me.

Dearest Readers,

A matter of utmost importance has come to my attention. I, the wicked scholar of the smutty menagerie, do beg humbly your assistance. A bit of research is required, but the rewards are more than worth the cost. You see, kind readers, I’m in dire need of help.

I won’t be coy…I’ve spent long years studying the topic thoroughly, and what I require are new specimens for my research. Hard pecs, smooth muscles, the sweetest curve of a masculine backside. Oh, yes. That will be my fee for entry into the day’s contest.

As the Smutketeer’s flying fortress is quite well hidden, and even my longing for the male posterior can’t get in the way of security–and our latest mission to save the world–a picture will suffice. Place a link to the portrait of your choosing in the comments, and I’ll select the finest specimen. The darling reader who provides for my ongoing research will be amply rewarded, you have my most honorable word on the matter. I am a Smutketeer, after all.

Ever Wickedly Yours,

Hey there! I’m so excited to welcome you to another day of the Smutketeer Extravaganza, we’re going to have so much fun here! Today, its my turn to have a little contest.
Those of you who know me know that I love to rhyme. I do it all the time-;)
much to everyones a)amusement or b) irritation

I am working on a perfect theme song for the Smutketeers…I haven’t got it yet, (I was held up in a gunfight, you know how that goes) but when I do you’ll be the first to know.

Anyway it got me thinking about my favorite theme songs of all time. So I’ve decided that that is what my contest will be about. Post and tell me what your favorite television and/or movie theme song is…OR if you have a song you consider to be your own personal theme, share that as well.

Here are some of mine to get the ball rolling

Or just to cover all the bases and get your juices flowing

Come on and lay it on me ;)