I e-mailed it to my Chinese doctor friend. He e-mailed back: “If the light stays on for more than 4 hours, call your erectrician.”
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Read an article in the paper recently about why women have sex. Among other things, the researchers said that men find most women at least moderately sexually attractive, whereas women don’t find many men desirable at all.I was really caught by that. SNAP! I thought. Because the sad truth is - I don’t find many men attractive. Of course - *cough, cough* - I am the perfect exemplar of feminine beauty, so I have every right to judge. Not!
Please don’t think that I don’t look, because I do - ALL THE TIME! (No sacrifice is too great for my readers.) In fact, we went to a football (Aussie Rules) preliminary final last weekend and my eyeballs were revolving, checking everyone out. I love people-watching anyway, because after all, I’m a writer, and there’s nothing as interesting as people, but… but…
I’m such a picky bitch. Even the merest hint of flab, forget it. Slightly pigeon-toed? Nu-uh. Short? Nope. Ordinary features? Nah, not good enough.
I’d always thought it was “just me”, you know? That I was pretty cold and mean. This is the reason I don’t give detailed descriptions of the faces of my heroes. I, um, can’t. The same reason I don’t go looking for photos of movie stars or models to base them on. I find it too much of a come-down to visualise them as men who actually exist. No real man could be as gorgeous as what’s in my head. *smile/sigh* It’s also why I like covers where you can’t see the faces.
How often do you look at a complete stranger and think, “Phrrrroar, he’s a bit of all right!” ? I mean, based on looks alone - not after talking to some guy and finding he’s funny and interesting and generally a terrific person. Even if he is a bit soft around the middle and has a few spots.
I definitely do notice bits and pieces. A boy with unbelievably blue eyes. A guy with beautiful hands. A jogger who’s tall and built. I once nearly drove 
up a telegraph pole because I was leering at cyclist with the most beautiful legs I’ve ever seen on a man. Probably just as well the helmet hid his face. He couldn’t possibly have lived up to those pins.
I mix ‘em up and put ‘em all together for my heroes. Oh, and sometimes I add accoutrement, like, uh, tails and wings. *grin* But one entire gorgeous package - nope, not even on a movie screen.
Mind you, to keep us all entertained and off the streets, I’m including pics of my most recently discovered lust object - Vampire Bill from True Blood, in the person of actor Stephen Moyer. He’s got that whole broody, dangerous thing going that really does it for me. And a particularly nice hairy chest. Yum. But if I met him? I’m sure he’s a lovely man, but bet I could find something to put me off. (Actually, now I come to look more closely at his chin…) While he, of course, would be completely swept off his feet by my mature charm and beauty. Right.
So, is it just me? Or are you incredibly picky about who shares your fantasy four-poster?
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Sigh… They don’t make ‘em like they used to - or do they? Heh heh.
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The story so far:
Duka has won his Duchess, but at the highest cost possible for a man like him. But he has a job to do. There are still more goods for sale…
You can read all of Kate here – http://www.deniserossetti.com/kate.html
Duka stepped out from behind the screen. “Settle down, rot ye!” he roared.
One by one, the pirates quieted, save for the occasional rumble of laughter.
His natural dignity unimpaired, Duka eyed the crowd with profound disfavour. “We have an auction to finish, goods unsold. Shall we get on with it, shipmates?”
“Aye!” The shout echoed around the forest.
“But I thought we’d see…” whispered Kate to Jack. “You know…Duka.”
He was holding her so closely that when he chuckled, she felt the reverberation through her whole body. Goose bumps of delight paraded down her spine. “You thought pirates weren’t capable of self-control? Harley and Chan will wait a little for their pleasure, you’ll see.”
Actually, it was the Rossetti woman Kate had her doubts about. Fortunately, the excellent common sense of her readers kept the crazy one in check. They wouldn’t rush headlong into sensual gratification, no way. A smug smile curved her lips. Rossetti’s readers were people of restraint and self-discipline, intelligent and discerning in their pleasures.
Absently, she nuzzled Jack’s shoulder, thinking how wonderful he smelled, of clean linen and warm healthy man. Sighing, she glanced up in time to see Harley and Chan tugging the screens aside as fast as they were able.
The scene on the stage hadn’t changed. Tom Cavanagh was still fastened to his St. Andrew’s cross, his cat now curled up against one big bare foot. The Count de Nothos still smouldered in his silver chains, Peter lay lounging on the couch with the Duchess’s leash in his hand, while she sat neatly on the floor near his feet, looking down her aristocratic nose.
“Let’s get to it, lads,” called Duka. “What am I bid for this fine gentleman here?” He waved at Tom Cavanagh, magnificently helpless.
“Wait,” croaked the First Officer. “Dammit, man, wait!”
***
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The story so far:
Kate and Jack are guests of honour at the pirates’ auction. Duka presides over a mouthwatering selection of goods, human and material. The bidding’s about to start on the Duchess…
You can read all of Kate here – http://www.deniserossetti.com/kate.html
“Aye!” called Harley, leaping to his feet. “I ain’t skeered, ye great lummox. I’ll bid a keg of finest brandy!”
Duka growled, but the red-bearded pirate waved his tankard, his teeth flashing in a grin. “”Twenty gold doubloons!” He belched. Clapping a dainty hand over her nose, Ess rolled her eyes and fluttered away to perch on a palm tree.
“Fifty!” yelled Chan, his almond eyes snapping with excitement.
“Sixty doubloons and I’ll write all yer letters fer a month.” Peter’s voice carried clearly in the soft night air.
Slowly, Duka turned his head and glared at Peter where he lay, delectably displayed on the couch. “You ain’t allowed to bid,” he rumbled. “You’re goods, dammit.”
“Oh.” Peter flushed adorably. He cleared his throat. “Sorry. Got carried away.”
“Hmpf.” Duka turned back to the audience, the light of the torches gleaming on the dark bronze of his massive chest, sparking fire from his gold nipple rings. “Fifty doubloons. I’m bid fifty doubloons. Speak now, for God’s sake, or shut the hell up.”
Chan and Harley had their heads together, whispering.
Red Beard staggered to his feet. “A hundred!” he bellowed. “One-fuckin’-hundred gold doubloons!”
The silence was so complete, Kate could hear the torches spluttering.
Red Beard chuckled. “There, Cap’n,” he said to Jack. “That’s shut `em up.”
“It certainly has,” said Jack dryly. He nodded at Duka. “Go on.”
But Duka’s head was bent, whispering to the Duchess. Kate saw her white fingers clench hard on his dark forearm. The woman trembled, every limb vibrating with apprehension. Kate caught only the occasional word from the First Mate. “Can’t beat…shit, sorry…don’t cry, love.” Clumsily, he patted her back. “Gotta…ah, fuck.”
His shoulder sagged, he lifted his head and inhaled deeply. “Going, going…”
***
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This is a British Rugby player called Ben Cohen, with one of his twin daughters. They’re advertising something - could be colic medicine - but hell, who cares?
Wham! One look and I dissolved into a puddle of hormonal “aw gee”. Let’s face it, I’ve seen lots of pics of the most divinely masculine men, all in the name of research, of course. *ahem* But I simply cannot get over how powerfully this image affects me, given I’m so totally not maternal and all. And I’ve had the similar reactions to gorgeous men with little babies before. I’m consistent, is all I can say.
So WTF is this? Exactly?
Here’s my theory - it’s a Cavewoman Thing. There’s something buried deep, deep in my little girly hindbrain that screams, “Whoa, the perfect mate. Grab ‘im, woman. QUICK!”
Look what we got here :-
Am I the only one to find this father/child stuff so powerful? BTW, it doesn’t work on me if the kid is older. It has to be a little bub. Which I think confirms it’s those cavewoman instincts at play. Fascinating!
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The story so far:
Kate and Jack have a “heart-to-heart” that really is. When Peter arrives, she discovers to her astonishment that among the items on offer at the pirate auction are Tom Cavanagh, the Comte de Nothos, the Duchess and Peter.
You can read all of Kate here – http://www.deniserossetti.com/kate.html
“Best seat in the house.” Jack nuzzled Kate’s hair. “Comfortable?”
Kate murmured her assent, stroking the arm he’d wrapped under her ribs. Though it wasn’t strictly true. Her heart thumped with a heavy expectant beat and she tingled as though her veins bubbled with champagne. But, yes, her body was also magnificently languid, almost boneless. After Peter had departed, Jack taken her to a sort of outdoor bathroom, roofed with a pergola draped with sweet-scented, flowering vines and fed by two trickling streams that splashed into a shallow rock-lined pool, one cool and one so hot it steamed.
He’d refused to let her do anything for herself, tenderly washing her hair and rinsing it, massaging her scalp until she purred. He’d been equally meticulous with the rest of her, soaping every inch of her skin with his hands. Of course, he’d lingered over her breasts, her bottom, her thighs. Grinning, his glorious chest rising and falling with his quickened breath, he’d made absolutely certain the quivering folds of her sex were squeaky clean.
But when she reached for him, he backed away. “Later,” he said cryptically. “It’ll be worth the wait.”
Then he’d dried her off with big fluffy towels, laid her down on a clean one and proceeded to massage fragrant oils into every inch of her skin. God, it had been heaven. As for the foot rub–! When he pressed his thumbs hard all along her sole, she’d nearly come then and there.
He’d allowed her to kiss him, giving her his mouth, deep and soft and wet.
With a final smile, he carried her back to the hammock, covered her with a light linen sheet, pecked her cheek like a brother, and left her to doze contentedly in the perfumed shade.
She’d woken to the drift of soft fabric against her cheek and opened her eyes to see Jack holding an armful of diaphanous fabric. “Let’s get you dressed,” he said, the tiger eyes glinting.
***
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The story so far:
The orgiastic battle of wills is virtually a dead-heat, Kate wins by a gasp, but she and Jack discover their strong, possessive feelings are mutual. Everyone finds satisfaction in their own way, such a considerable achievement that Kate passes out in gratitude.
You can read all of Kate here – http://www.deniserossetti.com/kate.html
Someone was stroking Kate’s hair, very gently. A woman’s voice said, “I think she’s coming `round.”
“No,” whispered Kate. “Not yet. Please.”
The woman went on talking, but another voice rode over the top of her, drowning her out – a deep, burnished baritone with a beguiling lilt to it. “C’mon, pretty Kate, open your eyes.”
Kate shot upright with a gasp – and nearly tipped herself ass over elbow out of the hammock.
“Whoa!” Jack caught her shoulders and held her steady. “Welcome back, sweetheart.” His tiger eyes danced, but he wasn’t smiling. He looked almost…sad. He was seated in a throne-like chair, woven out of golden cane.
Kate gripped his arm, feeling the heat of muscled flesh through the thin fabric of his shirt. “I nearly…” She swallowed. “I don’t know how much longer I have left.”
When Jack smoothed a hand over her hair, the sensation felt both beloved and familiar, as if he’d been doing it for some time. Kate found herself leaning into his touch, like a cat begging for a caress. He pressed his lips lightly to hers. Then he kissed her eyelids, the tip of her nose. “Look at me.”
She stared into his burning gaze, drowning. A flush stained his cheeks above the trim beard. “What I said, before at the pool…” He came to a dead halt, clearing his throat.
Kate could barely speak. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the Hormone Harlots, perched on the railing of what she realized now was the shady verandah of a palm-thatched bungalow. They appeared to be holding their breath, their wings barely stirring in the balmy air. She knew how they felt.
“Yes?” Her lips formed the word, but no sound came out.
“I’ve never said that to any woman, ever. Never wanted to.”
“Did you mean it?”
Some of the old arrogance resurfaced. His eyes flashed. “Bloody Jack Cavanagh doesn’t say things he doesn’t mean.”
Kate pressed closer. “Then say it again.”
Jack balked. “You first.”
“No, you.”
They glared at each other, the air vibrating with tension.
***
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Got your breath back? Heh heh.
What I want to know is - who the hell are these guys? I’m sooo curious! And what are they doing standing on a rock stark naked? Apart from posing, I mean.
Don’t think they’re a sports team, like footballers. The body types are all too similar. (No sacrifice is too great for my readers. I’ve studied this photo until my eyes hurt.) Are they male models? Probably. Which is a bit depressing, because the chances are most of them are gay. *sigh*
What do you think? Let’s have wild speculation! Who are they? And what are they doing there? Are they gay or straight? And would you like to be in a little boat out to sea? With binoculars.
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Only problem is, I got a trifle carried away. Yes, I know I always do, but not usually quite so early in the chapter, if you see what I mean. Hence we have a shorter than usual excerpt this time, the rest of it is too hot to post here - even for me. *blush*
The story so far:
Kate and Jack are locked in a battle of wills, mid-orgy. Who will give way first? And how will surrender change the balance of power?
“Not yet, darlin’” whispered Duka’s dark voice in Kate’s ear. “Don’t disappoint the readers.”
“Nngh,” whimpered Kate, writhing. If only she could shut her eyes, block out the erotic scene in front of her. But she couldn’t, because she’d promised Jack she’d watch his torture. Every twitch of his smooth muscled chest, every drop of sweat that coursed down his neck, or made his strong thighs gleam.
His cheeks were flushed with a deep ruddy hue and the emerald in his ear flashed a dark beautiful green as he tossed his head, groaning. Harley was deep-throating him now, his nose pressing hard into Jack’s pubic curls, the knuckles of his free hand whitening as his fingers dug into Jack’s impossibly taut ass.
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