I swear, you'll never be able to sing "The 12 Days of Christmas" again without this popping into your head.
I don't know what YOU might "see", but I see pro football quarterbacks waiting for a non-existent ball. My hubby, who sent this to me, sees the beginning of a grope. (By the way, where is the standing lord's other hand?)
*Sigh* It's been 29 days since I finished my last WIP, edited it, submitted it, and had it contracted. Since then I've been looking for inspiration for another story (cue song "Looking For Love In All the Wrong Places"). I'm still without an idea. But that's okay. I know that sooner or later something will hit me. Right here, right between the eyes (or the thighs, since I write erotic.)
You never know what'll trigger a story. Like this picture below, that was my inspiration for my book SUCKERS (cue song "You're the Inspiration".)
For the longest time, when you bought a new car, you got the dealership's logo sticker on the back of your trunk to show where you bought it. My father hated those stick-'em logos, and would always tear it off once he got the new car home.
Then came the license plate frames. Now I've seen the latest trend. The dealership's decal going across the entire back window.
How in the world do you remove an entire decal from a rear window? And who in the hell wants one of those things on the back of their new car?
My girlfriend and I dropped by the store yesterday after doing some serious shopping. I didn't do the whole "gotta get everything on my list" like she did, but I did pick up a few things. One of which was a can of peach halves. (Place halves in pan, put a dab of butter on the pit dent, sprinkle with cinnamon sugar, and broil until lightly brown. YUM! Great little dessert!)
Anyhoo, my friend remarked I had picked up a dented can. "So?" I asked.
"So, the contents could be compromised," she stated.
I'd never heard of such a thing. I'd been raised to believe there was no difference. And, besides, sometimes the store marked down the dented ones. But once I got home, I did a little checking, and my friend was right. You have no way of knowing if the contents of the can are now exposed to a miniscule amount of air, and therefore germs, from a crack or hole you can't see.
Went to the local "adult" store the other day to see what new stuff they had in. Hey, sometimes I get ideas to blog about. Know what I mean? Not to mention ideas regarding other "things". Ahem.
That's when I caught sight of a glass dildo. A GLASS dildo? I mean, ohmygosh, what woman in her right mind would use a GLASS one? Rubber, silicone, plastic - yeah, those make perfect sense to me because, for one thing, they BEND and they're FLEXIBLE like the real thing. And you sure as hell don't have to worry about them BREAKING OR CRACKING.
I've heard of, but never read, erotic stories involving bananas, breadsticks, and cucumbers being used in lieu of dildos. Which got me to thinking. Pickles are nothing more than pickled cucumbers. But would an author ever think to use a pickle as a sex toy? Or is that just a bit to garish?
Hey, I'm thinking the big, honking, dill pickle kind. The kind you can barely curl your fingers around, and you can suck and nibble on them for the good part of an hour before it's finally devoured.
Yet, for some reason, I keep thinking that if I mentioned "pickle" in a story, people would immediately envision the gherkin instead.
I just had my yearly evaluation with my supervisor, and got a good rating. Which means I'll get either a pay raise or a bonus. When an author friend of mine got a great review for her book, I got to thinking:
In a man's world, finding a woman who can tie a cherry stem with just her tongue is the equivalent of hitting the lottery - or so I've been told. There have been TV shows and movies where a stripper/call girl was able to show off her dexterity by performing such a trick. Of course, I told hubby that with camera magic ANYone can do it, but he's insistent that I try. So I found these directions on "how to".
Two women who had been friends for years, decided to go for a Girls Night Out, and were decidedly over-enthusiastic on the martinis. Incredibly drunk and walking home, they needed to use the bathroom.
They were very near a cemetery, and one of them suggested they wiz behind a headstone. The first woman had nothing to dry herself with so
she thought she'd take off her panties, use them, then throw them away.
Her friend, however, was wearing rather expensive underwear and didn't want to ruin hers, but was lucky to salvage a large ribbon from a
wreath that was on one of the graves. She dried herself with the ribbon.
After finishing, they then made off for home.
The next day the first woman's husband phoned the other husband and said, "This girls night out thing has got to stop right now. My wife came home last night without her panties."
"That's nothing," said the other husband. "Mine came home with a card stuck to her ass that said, FROM ALL OF US AT THE FIRE STATION, WE'LL NEVER FORGET YOU."
Time to do the Snoopy Dance! Red Rose Publishing just contracted my next book!
RHYTHM AND BOOS is a humorous, contemporary, paranormal, erotic romance. That's a mouthful, isn't it?
Here's the blurb:
Sinsuelle (aka Sydney Shookerman) was an exotic dancer. At least, she tried to be. Unfortunately, Sydney sucked at the job. She had a body to die for, and the face of an angel, but she lacked the timing and moves which would put her in the pro league.
Fortunately, she managed to keep her job at Napoleon’s nightclub. And despite the rumors that Napoleon’s used to be a speakeasy back in the 1920s, and was reputed to be haunted, she never knew how haunted it was until she accidentally awoke the spirit of one poor victim from that era.
The first thing Frankie Nuwurth wanted to do was to get even with the wise guys who had put him away. Although he had no idea how he was resurrected, the cute half-naked dame working in the joint was an awful temptation. And one thing was certain—he hadn’t been laid in almost a hundred years, which meant he had a lot of catching up to do!