Guest Post: When in Rome by Lucy Felthouse

When in Rome by Lucy Felthouse

I've found that the longer I've been writing, the more I find inspiration in the strangest places. And sometimes the inspiration doesn't strike me until much later. My story in Smut in the City is a perfect example of this.

I went to Rome back in May for the first time. I fully expected to come home with some ideas for stories, and given I needed to get my story written for Smut in the City when I got back, then that was perfect. What I wasn't expecting, however, was for the inspiration to come from the Colosseum. It's an absolutely awe-inspiring place, but it's so busy and crowded that getting up to anything sexy would grant you a large audience of onlookers and possibly some time spent in an Italian jail.

But, would you believe, a metal barrier and a sign gave me an idea. The whole structure is ancient and crumbling, but there's a particular part of it which is fenced off from the public as it is apparently more dangerous than the rest. And it's here that I set the sex scene from my story. My horny characters slipped past the warning barrier and had some kinky fun with thousands of people just feet away from them.

And voila, Within the Crumbling Walls was born. Now, I know my ideas are sparked by unusual things, but I think a metal barrier has got to be the strangest.

*****

Sultry, smouldering sex in the city is the theme of this erotic anthology, edited by Victoria Blisse and Lucy Felthouse.

From the stifling heat of the London Underground to the crumbling walls of Rome’s Colosseum, Smut in the City has it all. Whatever your interpretation of sultry urban sex, there’s something nestling between the covers for you. Lusty couples, horny office workers, hunky bakers and gardeners, tourists and the Mafia are portrayed for your titillation in this exciting collection of stories
from erotica’s finest authors.

More info, excerpt and buy links: http://lucyfelthouse.co.uk/published-works/smut-in-the-city/

*****

Lucy is a graduate of the University of Derby, where she studied Creative Writing. During her first year, she was dared to write an erotic story - so she did. It went down a storm and she's never
looked back. Lucy has had stories published by Cleis Press, Constable and Robinson, Decadent Publishing, Ellora's Cave, Evernight Publishing, House of Erotica, Ravenous Romance, Resplendence Publishing, Sweetmeats Press and Xcite Books. She is also the editor of Uniform Behaviour, Seducing the Myth, Smut by the Sea and Smut in the City. Find out more at http://www.lucyfelthouse.co.uk.
Join her on Facebook and Twitter, and subscribe to her newsletter at: http://eepurl.com/gMQb9

Smut in the City Release Blitz

Smut in the City, edited by Lucy Felthouse and Victoria Blisse

Sultry, smouldering sex in the city is the theme of this erotic anthology, edited by Victoria Blisse and Lucy Felthouse.

From the stifling heat of the London Underground to the crumbling walls of Rome’s Colosseum, Smut in the City has it all.

Whatever your interpretation of sultry urban sex, there’s something nestling between the covers for you. Lusty couples, horny office workers, hunky bakers and gardeners, tourists and the Mafia are portrayed for your titillation in this exciting collection of stories from erotica’s finest authors.

eBook:

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Print:

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Excerpt:

Within the Crumbling Walls

By Lucy Felthouse

Exiting the Colosseo Metro station, Libby shot a grin at her boyfriend, Ciaran. “I don’t think we’ll have any trouble finding it, do

you?”

“Hmm?” Ciaran frowned, then turned his gaze in the direction that Libby was pointing. He gave a sheepish smile. “No, I don’t

think we will. Shall we put the map away?”

Libby nodded, and Ciaran spun round so she should take the map and load it into his backpack. Zipping it back up, she patted

it twice to signal she was done. Ciaran turned and held out his hand. She took it, and together they took their lives in their

hands crossing the busy Roman road and walked to the Colosseum.

Despite the early hour, the queue was already considerable, and the couple exchanged a wry look. But then Libby remembered

something. “Hey, don’t look so glum babe. We can skip the queue, remember?”

Ciaran frowned. “We can?”

Pulling a small credit card shaped and sized item from her pocket, she replied, “Yes! Our Roma cards mean we can get in

quicker. That was one of the selling points the rep kept going on about when she was trying to flog them to us.”

Ciaran slapped his forehead theatrically, then retrieved his own card from his pocket. “Of course!” He used his not

inconsiderable height to peer over the heads of the group in front of him. “Okay, I see it. There’s a separate line for Roma Pass

holders, and it’s moving tons quicker. Hurrah!”

He made his way through the crowd, using a combination of touches on people’s backs and the words “excuse me.” Libby

followed quickly in his wake. Soon they were at the back of the very short and swiftly-moving queue. People passed through,

showing their cards to a very stern-looking Italian man, who nodded and pointed them towards another line.

This time they scanned their cards through some kind of barcode reader, and finally, they were in. Within the crumbling walls of

the ancient Colosseum, probably the most famous landmark in Rome. Looking around, Libby could see why.

Photos and videos didn’t do it justice. She wasn’t sure if Colosseum translated to colossal or not, but it was certainly the most

apt word to describe the place. It really was huge—and they hadn’t even seen the best part yet. Following Ciaran from the

ticket booth area—which was literally within the great walls—they passed out into the open area in the middle. Libby gasped. It

was amazing.

They were at ground level, with two or three levels above—she wasn’t sure which—and of course, the one below. Where the

gladiators, warriors and fierce creatures would have been kept before being forced to fight in the arena.

Realising Ciaran was gaping at the sight before them too, she encouraged him forward. “Come on, we’re kind of in the way

here.” Looking left, she saw an area which was fenced off and held warning signs urging the public not to enter. Libby snorted.

The whole place was falling to pieces, how could they possibly deem one section more dangerous than another?

Shaking her head, she turned her attention to the right and saw an area which would allow them a better view of the arena

floor. She grabbed Ciaran’s hand and pulled him with her.

Leaning on a barrier and looking out, Libby saw that arena “floor” was not an accurate description. At one end of the enormous

structure, a wooden base had been erected, but the rest of the oval was open, displaying what lay beneath. It looked like a

labyrinth, and suddenly she became aware of an English-speaking tour guide telling his group the history of the place. She

eavesdropped for a while, then fell to thinking how lucky she was to have been born in this day and age. She’d never know

anyone who’d be thrown to their deaths in such a place—or be forced to watch them killed in such a brutal manner.

*****

Lucy Felthouse: http://lucyfelthouse.co.uk

Victoria Blisse: http://www.victoriablisse.co.uk

Out With The In: Loving A Girl In The Closet

Last week, I posted this little memoir at Torquere Press' Romance for the Rest of Us blog.  Today, I'm sharing it with my readers here at Donuts and Desires.

A while back, I read a post at Davy Wavey's blog (do we all know Davy Wavey?) addressing "viewer mail."  The letter had something do to with dating a guy who wasn't out.  To be honest, it's the comments I remember better than the post itself.  A lot of guys chimed in to say they would never, ever, ever date a man who was still in the closet, or that they'd done it in the past and would never, ever, ever do it again.

These things get me thinking, you know?

I always find it kind of messy when people talk about being in OR being out, because there are so many levels of in and out.  More than that, to me, being out is a constant process that plays out every day as we make our ways through the world.

But those comments from guys who would NEVER date someone who wasn't out hit me especially hard because I'm in a long-term relationship with a woman who isn't out.  Sort of.  Because, with some people, she is out.  It's complicated.

If you hang out at my blog, you probably know that my Sweet identifies as transgender and lesbian.  She lived a lot of her life as a boy, and now she identifies as a woman.  But that doesn't mean she's out with the whole world.  Sweet has never come out to her family.  Whenever she sees them, she wears boy clothes and pretends to be something she's not.  There's a common misconception that once trans people realize who they are, they make a change and that's that, full speed ahead.  Not the case for many, especially trans men and women of the older generations.

My girlfriend is in and out of different closets in different ways with different people.  Her family thinks of her as a straight man.  She has friends from a transgender social group who know the real her, though.  Those are the only people who know me as her girlfriend.

She isn't out as trans with most of her friends and acquaintances.  She also lets all those people think she's straight.

It doesn't bother me in the least that Sweet wants to stay stealth about her gender identity.  It's nobody's business but her own, and there's still a great deal of misunderstand and aggression toward the trans population.  The thing that kind of sucks for me is that my girl is convinced that if anyone found out she loved another woman, they'd immediately rip off her wig and say, "Ah-ha!  You're really a man!"

Maybe that's another "generational" mindset.  Sweet's a few years older than I am, and you didn't see lesbians walking down the street holding hands when she was growing up.  I would never out my girl or break up with her because she wasn't out enough, or set some kind of ultimatum to force her hand.  People have to come out in their own time.

That said, there have been times when Sweet's closetedness has led to big-time arguments between us.  The major event that comes to mind happened a few years ago when I took the train to meet her in Niagara Falls, where she was doing some volunteer work.  We'd planned to drive back to Toronto together and, because she'd been working so much and our relationship is a long-distance one to begin with, that was about all the time we had together.  It was supposed to be a pleasant mini-road-trip, maybe with a detour or two for dinner and entertainment.  At least, that's what I had in mind.

When I got to Niagara, she told me that another volunteer needed a ride back to the city, so we were driving her too.  I was floored.  It was supposed to be OUR TIME, and she'd invited some random person along?  Well, I guess Sweet didn't realize this little road trip thingy was a date, a romancy-pants thing, because when I explained why I was so shocked and angry, she tried to find this random woman another ride home.  There was another volunteer who said, "Oh, sorry, I can't drive her.  My boyfriend and I are driving back together and we'll probably want to grab dinner."

I can't begin to tell you how badly I wanted my woman to say the same thing.  "Sorry, but I can't drive you after all.  My girlfriend and I made plans."  GIRLFRIEND.  Not FRIEND.  Usually I can stand the charade, but that day in particular I was so angry and disappointed that hearing myself described as "friend" seemed to put me and our relationship under erasure.  I wanted acknowledgement.  I wanted time alone with my woman.  The whole stupid misunderstanding could have been cleared up if she'd just admitted we were a couple.

So, okay, I do understand why some people wouldn't want to enter into a relationship with someone who is still in the closet.  It's not easy.  It causes arguments.  But you know what?  A lot of things cause arguments in a relationship.  A strong enough bond can overcome any controversy.

Come to think of it, I believe I left a comment on that Davy Wavey post.  I remember telling his readers a little bit about my relationship with Sweet, and going on to say that even though she's not out with her own family, she IS out with mine.  My mother loves her.  My sisters adore her.  They love spending time with the lesbian couple that is Sweet and I, and my girl gets to spend family time as the woman she is instead of pretending to be somebody she's not.

And maybe that's one of the best things about dating someone who is still in some sort of closet: you can give her opportunities to be out in the safe space your life has already created.  And that's pretty wonderful.

Hugs,
Giselle
--

Giselle Renarde is a prolific author of LGBTQ fiction, including Torquere's new Charity Sip Blitz title To Dream of her True Love's Face.

To dream of her true love's face, Emma obeys the well-known folklore and places a bundle of rosemary beneath her pillow. Her family is quite dismayed when she dreams of a beautiful Native woman rather than the young man they intend for her to marry. Their laughter and derision drives Emma to the woods, where she takes a step in the wrong direction and becomes stuck in a marsh. When she calls for help, what should she hear but the steady beat of hooves and the heavy rustle of leather.

Now Available from: http://www.torquerebooks.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=79_111&products_id=3674

Lesbian Erotica, Volume 10: Three Hot New Tales of Desire

Oh, kinksters, have I got a story for you!

Tisha and Narine's After-Hours Fetish Party.  If you like lesbian boot fetish erotica, baby, this has got what you're looking for:  boot-licking, heel-sucking (and fucking!), and Narine even gets to rub her wet pussy all over Tisha's big black boot.

I feel like I'm wheeling and dealing, here, and in the perviest way possible, but this is a dirty little story. (Sold!) It's now available in one of the new "Erotica" compilations edited by Barbara Cardy and published by Constable and Robinson.

Here's the scoop: 

Lesbian Erotica, Volume 10

ADDICTED TO LUST by Chris Westlake. Joanna is caught with her frilly panties on the floor and her fingers between her legs (awkward), her manager sends her to a group to combat her uncontrollable sexual cravings. The only problem (or bonus) is that the group contains other girls with the same hunger. Has Joanna finally met her sexual match? 

HAIR TODAY, COME TOMORROW by Dominique James. Dominique welcomes lesbian friend Debbie for a quiet, intimate, sexy night in. A lover of bondage and domination, Debbie finds herself on her knees, her hands tied behind her back as she slides her chilli-hot curry-coated tongue over Dominique's intimate places.

TISHA AND NARINE'S AFTER-HOURS FETISH PARTY by Giselle Renarde. Tisha and Narine are lovers who work together all day at a focus group facility, and who also happen to share a boot fetish...not to mention an exhibitionist bent! Their boardroom boasts professional camera equipment and web streaming capabilities. Why not make use of it when the day is done? After all their clients have left in the evening, Tisha and Narine greet the paying customers who watch them online at 'Tisha and Narine's After-Hours Fetish Party.' 

This ebook is a really good deal, by the way. Super-low price for three stories!

Here's the buy link for Amazon:
http://www.amazon.com/Lesbian-Erotica-Volume-10-ebook/dp/B008YDDHAK/ref=sr_1_13?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1347367990&sr=1-13&keywords=erotica+volume+10

And for Amazon UK:
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Lesbian-Erotica-Volume-10-ebook/dp/B008YDDHAK/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1347378528&sr=1-1

The Lesser Blessed and Me Without My Camera

I've lived in Toronto for more than 30 years and never attended the film festival until yesterday.  It's a big thing, the Toronto International Film Festival.  Glitzy, glam-y, red carpet-y, celebrity stuff.  Not really what I'm into, myself.  I wouldn't recognize most Hollywood personalities if I tripped over them.

But this year I had a reason.  There's this author, Richard Van Camp, who lives in the Northwest Territories.  (For my international readers, Canada is comprised of 10 provinces and 3 territories.  The territories are on top.)  I first encountered Richard Van Camp's writing in an anthology called The Exile Book of Native Canadian Fiction and Drama.  When I started a tweet about how much I enjoyed his story, I stopped for a sec and thought, "Hey, maybe he's on twitter."  Sure enough, he was, and we became fast twitter-friends.

Social networking's pretty kick-ass, right?

Anyhoo, when Mister VC tweeted that the film adaptation of his book The Lesser Blessed was coming to TIFF, I knew I had to see it.  The first screening took place Sunday September 9th at Isabel Bader Theatre, where I happened to have attended classes back when I was a student at Victoria College.  The world gets smaller by the day, I tell you.  

I guess I didn't realize what a REALLY BIG THING this was.  For some reason, I thought The Lesser Blessed had premiered already, somewhere else.  Okay, I was wrong.  This screening was the world premiere.  When I got to the theatre and saw people in tuxedos and shiny gowns, I kind of went... damn... I should have dressed up a little more.  I DIDN'T wear my usual dirty cargo pants and ripped hoodie, but even so, I felt notably underdressed.

I also didn't expect to see STARS!  I'm talking MY kind of stars, the kind I WOULD realize if I tripped over them, actors like Tamara Podemski (and am I crazy or were there other Podemskis on site? Maybe I was seeing double, I don't know.)  It kind of made my knees wobbly, seeing filmmaker Anita Doron on the red carpet in her lovely blue gown (that I don't have a picture of because I didn't bring my damn camera!)  Everything felt dreamy, like stuff you see on TV but never experience in real life.

So, the next question I've almost forgotten to answer is: "How was the film?"  Well, it was amazing and it made me cry more than once.  Thank goodness I found some tissues stashed in my pocket, or I would have been wiping my nose on my shirtsleeves.  I'd love to give a more in-depth film analysis, but unfortunately I spent the entire course I took with Professor Bart Testa mooning over the silver sexiness of Professor Bart Testa, so I didn't absorb all that much.

The Lesser Blessed is the type of movie that gets called "gritty" because it's such an authentic portrayal of the human experience and human emotion.  It is exactly the kind of film I love: engaging, raw, suspenseful, and beautifully acted by a cast that stretched from Benjamin Bratt and Kiowa Gordon to newcomer Joel Nathan Evans, whose performance was stunning.

During the Q&A after the film, the director told the story of casting Joel in the leading role.  They wanted to find a teenaged actor from the Northwest Territories for the lead role of Larry, so they set off on a little road trip and had open auditions in high schools across the territory.

In Richard's hometown of Fort Smith (if I'm not mistaken), the place upon which the fictionalized setting of the film is based,  they held their audition and nope, no luck.  As director Anita Doron walked through the halls of this high school, she passed by a tall, lanky boy who was making everybody laugh, and she knew she'd found her Larry.  "He didn't come to the audition," the director told the audience.  "He had a math test.  He didn't care."

My highest accolades go out to this production and everyone who worked on it, cast, crew, and creatives.  If you're in or around Toronto, there's another screening tomorrow, Tuesday Sept 11 2012: http://tiff.net/filmsandschedules/tiff/2012/lesserblessed  Check it.

I also want to say that TIFF volunteers are super-awesome and treat patrons like royalty.  Thanks for your devotion and time, volunteers!

Big hugs,
Giselle

New Anthology: Smut in the City

Here's a nice surprise: Smut in the City is now available!

This is an anthology edited by Lucy Felthouse and Victoria Blisse, and the table of contents reads like a who's who of erotica writers (and a "who's that?" when you get to my name, of course. It's amazing how long you can work in this business before anyone knows who you are... but I digress).

My lesbian cougar/bondage/messy/ice play story Saturday on a Tuesday appears in Smut in the City.  It's set in an office tower in Toronto, because I used to work in an office tower in Toronto.  Now I write smut. Aaaand scene.

Below, I've posted the books blurb as well as a "yes, ma'am" sort of excerpt from my story.  I can't believe this antho has already hit the market!  So exciting!

Sultry, smouldering sex in the city is the theme of this erotic anthology, edited by Victoria Blisse and Lucy Felthouse.

From the stifling heat of the London Underground to the crumbling walls of Rome’s Colosseum, Smut in the City has it all. Whatever your interpretation of sultry urban sex, there’s something nestling between the covers for you. Lusty couples, horny office workers, hunky bakers and gardeners, tourists and the Mafia are portrayed for your titillation in this exciting collection of stories from erotica’s finest authors.

 

Excerpt from Saturday on a Tuesday:

“You have beautiful breasts, love.”

Gazing off to the side, Liddy smiled.  “Thank you, ma’am.”

“Ahh, ma’am!  So you’ve been taught to respect your elders.  That’s good.  Most young people think they rule the world.”

“Not me, ma’am.”  Liddy bit her lip, so beautifully bashful.  “There’s so much you can teach me.”

This girl was playing right in to Gemma’s hands.  She’d been around the block.  She knew the game.

“If you don’t want me cleaning up the coffee,” Liddy went on, “what would you like me to do?”

The possibilities were endless!  Where to begin? 

“Take your breasts in hand, Liddy.”

“Like this, ma’am?”  The good girl did as she was told, cupping her luscious tits and holding them together.

“Beautiful, beautiful breasts.”  Gemma licked her lips.  She could hardly decide what to ask for next.  “Pinch those rosy little nipples for me.  Get them hard.  Make them red.”

“Yes, ma’am.”  Liddy pressed both nipples between her thumbs and forefingers, inhaling sharply.

“How does that feel?” Gemma asked, though she could feel the intense ache in her own breasts.  She could feel that lightning bolt to her clit and that familiar throb, that need.  “There’s so much you want from me, isn’t that right Liddy?”

Her lashes fluttered.  She whimpered as she twisted her darling nipples.  “Yes, ma’am.  So much.”

           “What do you want most?”

***

Hehe... you have to buy the book to find out: https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-smutinthecity-932965-144.html

Hugs,
Giselle

New Anthology! The Boss: To Serve and Be Served

Packed with professional misconduct of the most salacious kind, these ten erotic stories feature mischievous behaviour with the person behind the biggest desk in the office.

Original sexy power plays from Kate Pearce, Justine Elyot, Sommer Marsden, Giselle Renarde and many more.

Power and success are major aphrodisiacs. But who is responsible for initiating what happens under the desk, or even over it?

A Boss’s beach house as the scene of an unusual proposition…

A chamber maid discovers something most people won’t encounter in a lifetime…

One girl’s involvement with her boss fails to anticipate the role his kinky wife plays…

Download now: £0.99 at Mischief Books!

http://www.mischiefbooks.com/books/boss/

I Dream of L.A. Brothels, Violet Blue, and Professor Snape the ManWhore Too!

Often, I share my dreams (as in night dramas, not aspirations) on Twitter, but this one's too involved for 140 characters, so it gets its own blog post.  Why do I think other people are interested in my dreams?  I don't.  They're just weird and they say more about me than I could say about myself.

Anyhoo, last night I dreamed that my mother's office moved to L.A. and she invited me out there, saying that there was a receptionist post available.  So I went, la-dee-da, and it turned out the "receptionist" job was more like "brothel madame."  Apparently, the company's lawyers moonlighted (except during the day... daylighted?) as MANWHORES and, yes, you guessed it, one of the dudes was Professor Snape.

Despite my waning (almost extinguished) sexual interest in men, I would mow down my grandmother for a chance at Professor Snape.  The Harry Potter character.  Not Alan Rickman, who is cool and stuffs, whatevs, but Snape is WOW.

So now I'm a madame in a brothel served by Snape, and I'm thinking, "Dude, all it takes is $40 (forty dollars!!!) and he can be MINE ALL MINE!  Mwahahaha!"  In the meantime, as I'm struggling to learn my new job (which consists of greeting female patrons at the office lobby and bringing them to the lawyer-manwhore suites), I meet a lovely, curvy, funny girl who's arrived for her appointment.

When she's done using and abusing my Snape, I meet up with her again.  I'm not usually instant-buddy-buddy with strangers, but we really hit it off.  It happens to be my lunch hour, so she takes me on a star-sighting tour bus with her good friend Violet Blue. (Wrong city, right state, so close enough?)

The tour is conducted by singers I can't understand, but I'm happy to see Violet.  She has paperwork for me: a hand-written introduction to Best Women's Erotica 2013.  Her writing veers from English to French and I laugh because I do the same thing (you should see my grocery lists--they're bilingual and often incomprehensible. Framberry. Concumber.).  I feel an instant sense of camaraderie with her, until she mentions something about her "husband" and then I suddenly feel like I've missed something.

Anyway, tour bus.  Right.  We only got halfway through the tour when the curvy girl and Violet said they had to leave.  At first I was thinking, "That's cool, I'll just stay on by myself," but then I realized I didn't know the city.  At all.  I felt overwhelmed and lost.  I couldn't even find my way back to the office on my own. I had to rely on other people.

When I got back to the office/brothel, everything seemed to be taking care of itself, so I took the afternoon off.  (On my first day?)  I kept thinking about Snape, and how easy it would be, how I should take advantage.  "Maybe tomorrow."

The next morning, I found out my precious had been mauled by some kind of vicious prostitute alien chick who'd bitten off his junk.  (Yeah, I said junk.)  When I visited him in hospital, Snape was a creepy little thing with a gash where his junk used to be. (Yeah, I said it again.)

I'd missed my chance.

I thought about Toronto, and I wanted to go home.  I couldn't remember why I'd decided to come to America in the first place.  I missed my country.

So that's that.  If you wanted a happy ending, you'll have to make up your own.  This one was forlorn and confused.  But that's dreaming for 'ya.

Sometimes life is better.

Hugs,
Giselle