I can't remember where I heard that the first name people look up when the new phone book comes in is their own. I have a suspicion it was a joke on some stupid sitcom, so it might not actually be true... but I suspect it is.
Today Alison Tyler sent me a copy of Blushers, her new anthology of erotic spanking stories. Since I'm quoted in the book, it seemed only natural to look up my name first thing. There it was, under my quote about sexy spankings: Giselle Renarde, spelled correctly and everything.
Once I was satisfied and gushy and buzzing with the knowledge that my name was there inside a compilation of Alison Tyler's spanking erotica, I figured I'd go back and start from the first page of the first story, The Hardest Part.
I've never read anything so raging with anticipation that it hitched inside of me, caught somewhere between my breast and my belly, making me want to scream out, "Just spank her" along with the character's internal pleas of, "Just spank me." Just spank her, spank her, spank her! God I wanted it so bad. I wanted it for her, but for me as well. I wanted to watch it happen. I wanted to feel it vicariously through this character's skin. She made me want it. Had nothing to do with "him"--her him, whoever he was. This wasn't about him, not for me. It was about her. It was about seeing her pretty little panties down around her ankles, her pleated skirt pushed up above her waist, her bare ass in the air and her body perched precariously over his lap. I wanted to see that spanking and feel it because, God oh God oh God, I knew it was going to be good.
...so, that was my reaction to the first page...
Seems somewhat contradictory that a proclaimed master of the erotic word can produce stories so deliciously mired in submission, but Blushers is proof positive.
Hell, the first page alone is proof positive. And there are plenty more where that came from.