When I was first published, I was always a little hesitant to tell people I write erotic fiction. Not because I’m embarrassed or ashamed. Actually, I’m quite proud of my work. I’m hesitant because I almost always get the same question: How do you find inspiration?
Which, in itself isn’t a bad question, writers get inspired by an immeasurable amount of things—a song, a news story, watching a couple walk down the street.
It’s when the question comes with a smirk and crooked brow that it causes me to heave a sigh of disappointment in the lack of maturity in my fellow man.
There seem to be a few misinterpretations of what I do as an erotic writer, so let me try to clarify some things:
- Contrary to what I may have written in a book, I have never discreetly taken off my panties and masturbated in public for the sexual gratification of my lover.
- I don’t write while wearing leather, lace, or latex. Nor do I write in the nude.
- The only time I will ever flash my tits or spread my legs at the doctor’s office is when it’s required for a medical examination.
- I don’t carry condoms, lube, handcuffs, or nipple clamps in my purse.
- I don’t have sex on a whim with whatever man, woman, or mythical creature may be around.
- I’m not a swinger.
- I’ve never slept with my boss/professor/neighbor/etc. (any of them).
- Barely legal males are pretty safe from my overwhelming need to fornicate, even when they are swimming in the pool and their bare rippling chests are reflecting the sun.
- I don’t fall into the throes of orgasm with every touch.
- I don’t have sex (oral or otherwise) in movie theaters.
- I don’t wear stilettos and a French maid outfit while vacuuming.
- When I eat, I prefer to use a plate and silverware rather than lapping up my dessert off the sweaty six-pack of a man I just met.
- I never have and never will consider semen a delicious treat or a regular part of my skin care regimen.
- I don’t wear crotchless panties on the off-chance I may meet some sex starved co-worker in an elevator.
I hate to burst all those bubbles at once, but the truth is I’m actually pretty normal. I usually write in jeans and a tee. I go swimming with my bathing suit on. I cook, clean, and vacuum like everyone else; fully clothed.
I have one lover, my husband, and while we make a point to keep things interesting in the bedroom, what we do is private. I don’t write books about it.
And if I did…I wouldn’t tell you. 😉
The Rebound is available from Liquid Silver Books and has been rated a Top Pick by Night Owl Reviews.
A no strings relationship, the freedom to explore all their wildest fantasies, and walking away when they’re done is all Casi and Conner want from each other. Nothing is taboo . . . except falling in love.
She watched him sit across from her, easing back in the chair in the way that he does when he simply wanted to watch her. “You’re not eating any of this?”
“Not out of a bowl.”
Casi grinned before sticking her finger in the whipped cream and holding it out to him. He leaned forward, sucked it clean, and then fell back again. “How was your day?” she asked, reaching for a button on her blouse.
“Did you watch me?”
“You know the answer to that by now.”
A smile touched her lips as she opened her shirt. “But I like when you tell me.”
Conner lowered his eyes to her bra, red and embroidered intricately, enticing him to touch it. “I watched you tonight.”
“What did you think?”
“I think that most people would be appalled to know that I jack off watching the news.”
Laughter erupted from her as she tossed her shirt aside. “Yeah, you should probably keep that to yourself.”
When she stood and turned her back to him he reached up, eased the zipper of her skirt down and watched it fall. She kicked it aside as she met his gaze, demanding that he look at her as she released her bra. She dropped it and then slid down her panties and stepped out of them.
She hopped on the table in front of him, put a red stiletto heel on either side of his chair and spread her legs wide. From behind her, she pulled the banana split toward her and laid back. With a spoon, she scooped out a chunk of ice cream and dropped it on her stomach.
Conner grinned, watching her abdomen jerk in response to the cold. The frozen ball settled on her belly button and by the time she dug out toppings, it was starting to melt and run down her sides. He was tempted as hell, but he sat back, watching her create a treat for him.
When she was done, she lifted the cherry from her dessert, and dropped it on the pile of ice cream and whipped topping on her stomach. Looking at him, she smirked. “Bon appétit.”
Emilia Mancini lives with her husband, two children, and their numerous pets. She is a freelance writer appearing monthly in a variety of local magazines as well as a content editor for several small publishing houses.
Romance/erotica is her preferred reading and writing genre because nothing feels better than falling in love with someone new and her husband doesn’t like when she does that in real life.
She is currently working on her MS in Publishing with hopes of someday taking over the world.
She also writes sweet romance under pen Marci Boudreaux. Visit Marci at http://www.marciboudreaux.com