Saturday, March 28, 2015

Give Me the Music

This one's for @amhartnett.  We've been tweeting back and forth about Rufus Wainwright a lot lately, and when I was searching for another post to show her, I came across THIS one.  I wrote it for Oh Get A Grip, where I blog every other Thursday, but if you're a die-hard Donuts and Desires reader and you will read NO OTHER BLOG but this one, you probably haven't seen it.

So here it is:

Give Me the Music

Have you noticed how pervasive "rockstar romance" erotic novels have become lately?  I'll admit, my finger's not exactly on the pulse of modern romance trends (much as it ought to be, since I operate at least somewhat in that genre), so if I've noticed it, it must be a thing.  Books, stories, 30-novel box sets, all about girls and guys lusting after rockstars.

And this is probably a brilliant trend to hop onboard--because if there's one kind of hero that never gets old, it's a rockstar hero.

I'm going to get way too personal here, because I know how much you love it when I tell you all my sexrets. (that was supposed to be "secrets" but I can't bring myself to erase a Freudian typo)

Right.  So, you've probably heard me mention that, at this stage of my life, my primary attraction is to women.  If you want to know something quirky and odd about me, here's a random fact: the only guys I've found myself attracted to in the past few years (aside from Professor Snape, but he's fictional anyway) are musicians.

Super-SUPER-gay musicians.

Rufus Wainwright.  OMG.  My heart is beating faster just looking at that name.

This is nothing new, come to think of it.  When I was a preteen, I recorded my father's Elton John's Greatest Hits record onto a cassette tape and played it every night as I fell asleep, fantasizing about dancing endless tangos with him.  Someone was wearing a flashy red gown, and I don't think it was me.

Earlier this year (or maybe it was last year), Ryan Field posted a call for submissions.  He was putting together an anthology called The Women Who Love to Love Gay Romance.  It happens that I don't read gay romance (or any romance, for that matter), but his concept of having female authors insert themselves into gay sex scenes hooked me, totally.  I had to write something for him.  And I did.

And it was about a gay musician. Obviously.

My story featured a fictionalized version of a Canadian indie artist called Owen Pallett. You may remember him from when he performed as Final Fantasy. Or maybe you don't know him at all.  Here he is:

I wrote a story called "Baby Got Bach" for Ryan Field's anthology--a what-if scenario based on... oh boy, this is embarrassing... 

See, last year Owen Pallett's first violin concerto was premiered with the Toronto Symphony Orchestra.  He didn't perform the piece himself, but he was there.  He hosted the afterparty.  Yeah, so after the show I found myself in the same room as him.

He was standing right there.  Right-the-fuck there. And do you think I could work up the courage to say, "Hey, I love your music."


I stood in the corner and stared at him like a huge creepy perv.  And then I left.

(I could tell you a strikingly similar story about not talking to Peter Oundjian at the Toronto Reference Library, but we'll save that for another day, methinks...)

When I got down to writing "Baby Got Bach," I kind of hit a wall of writer's block. I just couldn't envision myself engaging in any kind of activity with this Owen Pallette-esque character of mine.  If I got my hands on one of the gay musicians I'm constantly perving over, what would I even do with him?

Here's the big question: do I want Rufus Wainwright's penis in my vagina?

Umm... actually, no.  I don't want that at all.  And yes, I realize there are many other ways to have sex, but when it comes right down to it, I don't want to do any of those things with these people.  I could perv over Rufus Wainwright concert clips on YouTube ALL. NIGHT. LONG. but I don't want to fuck him.  I'm almost disappointed in myself, admitting that, but I just can't picture it.

Maybe it's not the musicians.  Maybe I want to fuck the music.

The music gives me this giddy, blissful feeling that's... well, a lot like love.  Like a frenzy of misdirected lust and joy and cosmic orgasm.  It's hard to explain, because it feels like infatuation.  There's a longing and a pull, a desire, and it's strong.  It's damn strong.  I'm not even sure what you'd call it.

Romance readers can keep their rockstar heroes... as long as they give me the music.

Edit: I should have mentioned Owen Pallett's Heartland is one of my favourite albums of all time. I highly HIGHLY recommend it. The song in the clip above (Lewis Takes Off His Shirt) appears on this album, as do many other Lewis-related songs.

Friday, March 27, 2015

Spooky Bisexual Erotica: Sharing the Stranger

When I proofread this short story the other day, I was kind of... scandalized? Am I allowed to be scandalized by my own work? I guess I'd just forgotten how weird and dirty it was. I actually thought it was a purely lesbian tale about stepsisters spending the night in a haunted house. It's not. There's a dude in it who looks like Jack White and may or may not be a vampire. Don't ask me--I just wrote the thing.

Anyhoo... I recommend.  It's taboo and it's HOT.

Sharing the Stranger
A Dark Tale of Forbidden Fertility
by Giselle Renarde

Valerie and Marissa are spending the night in a remote old farmhouse. The last thing they expect is a knock at the door. When Raphael appears out of nowhere, they’re possessed. What is it about this strange figure that has them so mesmerized? Is it his pale skin? His raven hair? His silver-tipped walking stick and shoes that are inexplicably clean despite the mud all around?

Perhaps Raphael’s most alluring quality is his ability to make the girls want things they never imagined… and do things they’ll never forget…

A forbidden first-time fertility tale.

Now Available from Amazon|
Amazon UK|
Amazon Canada|
Amazon Australia|


“Valerie?” I asked, skulking around the corner.

She was standing in the entrance with the door wide open.

In the darkened entryway stood a man who looked neither young nor old. His dark hair fell in greasy strands across his gaunt cheeks. He had that pale sort of skin that gave way to blue bags under his eyes, the way I looked when I didn’t get a good nine hours of sleep. But there was something about him… something inexplicably appealing…

“Marissa,” Valerie said, opening the door a little wider. “This is Raphael. He says he used to live here.”

Raphael reached for my hand and I gave it to him in an instant. “Marissa? What a beautiful name.”

“Thanks.” When I felt his cold fingers against my palm, my knees weakened. I almost collapsed against the door when he brought my hand to his lips and kissed it softly.

Any other guy did that, I’d kick him in the nads.

But Raphael had these eyes, these piercing green eyes that convinced me everything was okay.

“Soft skin you have. Just like your sister’s.” He looked from her to me. “Such lovely young women you are. Same eyes you have. I see the family resemblance.”

Valerie broke out in a blush and said, “Oh, we’re not related. We’re just stepsisters. Our parents only got married less than a year ago.”

“Ahh,” Raphael said, nodding. “Then you have not lived here very long?”

“No, we just moved in,” I said, rushing to speak before Valerie could get a word in. “Before that we lived in the city. It’s very different, living out here in the middle of nowhere.”

“Very different,” the stranger agreed.

Now Available from Amazon|
Amazon UK|
Amazon Canada|
Amazon Australia|

Wednesday, March 25, 2015

#RandomBookIWrote Wednesday: Bali Nights

Here's a book I decided to write while watching a documentary about male sex workers catering to female clients on the beaches of Bali. Come to think of it, a lot of book ideas come to me while I'm watching documentaries.

Amazon UK:

Erotic romance by Giselle Renarde explores lust and sexual fantasies on the sandy shores of Bali...

Do Beach Boys really exist? They’re said to be hot young surfers who sell their bodies on the sandy shores of Bali—and not to other men, oh no. Beach Boys specialize in seducing women.

According to Kimmy, Beach Boys are not only real, but they’re Bali’s top tourist attraction. And she should know, considering she hired one last time she vacationed there. How she convinced co-worker Shandra to fly halfway around the world just to pay a guy for sex, Shandra will never know… until their first day in Bali, when she falls for Man: tall, dark, handsome, and on the make.

There’s something different about Man—he’s nothing like the guys back home. Shandra can tell him things she’s never shared with anyone, shed her inhibitions, and abandon herself to the best sex of her life. Now she understands why Kimmy was so anxious to return to her Beach Boy, Budi.

With Man’s encouragement, Shandra surrenders to a lust for men (and women) she’s long denied. But there’s more to a Beach Boy than meets the eye. Are Budi and Man really as trustworthy as Shandra and Kimmy think, or will their secrets shatter the girls forever?

Amazon UK:

Tuesday, March 24, 2015

Tell Me What You're Up To, Lilith Lo!

It's "Tell Me What You're Up To Tuesday." Sorry I missed last week, by the way. I was out of town and thought I'd post when I got home at 4 in the afternoon. Walked through my door, cleaned out the litter boxes, crashed on the couch. That was it. I was out for the night.

Anyhoo, today's guest is Lilith Lo!

Giselle: Tell Me What You're Up To, Lilith Lo!

Lilith Lo: Morning Giselle :) I can feel the heat from Canada all the way down here! Fabulous work.

On the stove - is a mess I need to clean up from when I made coffee this morning and spilled the sugar. :)

On the books - I'm writing two series. One has become known as Thor Porn. The official series title is Gods of Lust. Book 1, Rapture, will be released in late March. I grew a bit weary of Thor being delivered sans erotica time and again.

The second series is Vespa's Sapiens. Book 1 is available now. A sci-fi series that puts the Sexy in World Domination.

On the Roundabout - I have a list of things to do that's a mile long. Every day I work morning to night and somehow I've only managed to slip further behind!

Giselle: Got a new book out? What's it called?

Lilith Lo: Relax

Giselle: Done. Now tell me about this book LOL

Lilith Lo: A couple trapped in a sexually repressed marriage sought out sex therapy - and then discovers a new passion while putting their counselor's suggestions into practice.

Giselle: I love couples trapped in sexually repressed marriages! Where can readers buy it?

Lilith Lo:

Giselle: Where can readers find you?

Lilith Lo: Website:
Twitter: @lilithsirinlo

Monday, March 23, 2015

...but the weird part was...

Random middle-of-the-night post, here. My girlfriend had this dream about us. And when I say US, that includes YOU:

I had a weird dream ... well not really weird but different for me .. usually dont dream about sex

.. it was one of those no lead-up no end dreams .. just the action in the middle ..

I finally got my entire hand inside you .. all the way past the wrist .... you were totally naked flat on a table with a velvet table cloth and you kept trying to pull your shoulders up so you could get a view of what I was doing .. but the angle was wrong and you kept wincing with a touch of hurt but smiling to encouraging me to keep going

... but the weird part was ....

.. that you didnt seem to notice (or if you did you didnt care) that there were people around watching sort of like bleacher style and they were making comments and encouragements 

.. weird huh ?

Saturday, March 21, 2015

#MySexySaturday Sapphic Confessions: 24 Kinky Lesbian Sex Stories

Is your life lacking lesbians?  No?  Well, lucky you. Sheesh...

What I'm trying to say is there's a new book in the world, and it's full of lesbian letter-style erotica!  Sapphic Confessions: 24 Kinky Lesbian Sex Stories is just what it says on the box--two dozen tantalizing tales, available in print and as an ebook!

And you know the really great part? You can get the ebook at a low introductory price from select retailers--limited time only, so act fast!

Amazon UK:
All Romance Ebooks:

This 7-paragraph excerpt is brought to you by the sensuality scientiststs at My Sexy Saturday. From the story “Could Have Been Any Girl”:

“You gotta fuck me,” I growled, crawling from her arms.

Until she glanced at the group of dykes watching us kiss, I’d nearly forgotten we were on a city street.

“What, right here?” she asked. Her voice was squeaky and high, and she cleared her throat before saying, “We got an audience, babygirl.”

I didn’t care. I turned around, leaned against the brick wall, and spread my legs. “Fuck me. Hard.”

The dykes were all watching when my reluctant stranger shoved her hand between my thighs and shifted my thong out of the way. When the stiff night air kissed my cunt, I gasped. It felt so new to be exposed like this, out on the street before a group of gawking lesbians.

The stranger took her turn with me, and the moment those thick fingers slid inside my pussy I was a helpless.

“Yeah, fuck me,” I moaned, bucking back at her hand, making her fingers move hot and fast. “Harder!”

Get Sapphic Confessions ON SALE now at...
Amazon UK:
All Romance Ebooks:

Get it in print from:

Friday, March 20, 2015

The Book I Wrote Before I Was a Writer and Don't Take This as a Recommendation

Where to begin? There's so much I want to tell you.

I'll begin with the novel. I found it on my computer, partially completed at 200 pages and 60,000 words.  I have some memory of writing it while I was still working in business--before I had any intention of becoming an author, as far as I recall.  But memory is an iffy thing.  I can be wrong. I'm often wrong.

If I wrote a huge chunk of a novel before I made my living as a writer, I must have done it for a reason.  That reason is lost on me now.  To preserve a time in my life?  To preserve the salience of certain events?  I don't know.  All I do know is that I started revising this book and it sucks monkey balls.

But you know what? Even monkey balls can be fixed. And now I want to make a joke about this chimpanzee I saw in a documentary whose vasectomies wouldn't take... but I won't make that joke. Instead, I'll admire what I was trying to accomplish over a decade ago, when I wrote my life down--or some version of it, at least.

This book is autobiographical fiction, but if I were to sit down right now and try to delve back into myself as a teen and young adult, I just wouldn't be able to. I've outgrown the angst.  It's so hard to access that side of yourself when it feels so distant, but when I wrote this book (I must have been in my mid-twenties at the time) those years were obviously close at hand.

So I'm thankful my former self took the time to write my monkey balls book. Sure the writing is terrible, but the heart of it's there. It'll take a lot of time, but I can work with what's on the page. That's the project I'm devoting my time to, these days.

Blog Post, Part Deux:

You might have noticed I added a feature in the sidebar. Over there ==>

My New Year's resolution was to read more, because I firmly believe a big part of the writer's job is to read. Mission accomplished. I'm pretty sure I've already read more books in 2015 than I did in the whole of 2014. Well, maybe not quite, but almost. I'm doing well.

I also figured I would share what I was reading with you. I'm accountable to you. You can see what I'm doing. Giselle is nothing if not transparent.


Except, if you're reading this blog post before I change the cover in the sidebar, the book you're seeing actually isn't the book I'm reading.

When I spotted The Postmistress at the library, I was so excited because I remember when it came out and there were subway posters for it and the cover looked so pretty and I was like, "Yay, it'll be like Lark Rise to Candleford and I miss that show so much."

And then I opened it and started reading, and from the very first page... IT WAS MY MONKEY BALLS BOOK. I kid you not.

Not talking content here, just quality and style. It begins with a preamble because the author obviously didn't have the confidence to be like, "Here's my story. Here it is. Right now." Nope, she needs to kind of explain WHY this story has to be told, or why you might be interested in reading it.  I know this because that's why my monkey balls book began with a similar preamble, which is now dust.

Readers don't need to be told why they might want to read the novel via some cutesie prologue. Readers picked up your book because they wanted to read the book. So just get on with it.

You know I don't like to trash other authors' works because it's bad for business and it makes you feel pretty shitty if you are that author, but The Postmistress is a New York Times bestseller and the prose is just... it's just not good, guys. It's sadly bad. It's so bad it made me sad.

Books that bring out my inner editor go back to the library. I never used to give up on books. I felt like once I'd started them I had a duty to finish reading. Not anymore.

What put me over the edge with The Postmistress was the messy POV shifts and head-hopping. It irked me so much I finally threw my bookmark on the floor, closed the book and said, "That's it. I'm done." And also, "Who edited you?"  This stuff would have been so easy to edit out. It's really jarring, and it's just left in there to jar you. It's like if I'd found my monkey balls book on my hard drive and just went, "Hey, let's publish this! Right now!"

Basically what I'm saying is that books that appear in the what I'm reading feature in the sidebar are just that--books I'm reading. They're not necessarily recommendations.

Although I have a feeling the book I just started (Half-Blood Blues by Esi Edugyan) WILL be, because the writing is fucking brilliant. Lawrence Hill thinks so too. Although his quote on the cover says, "A truly beautiful novel." Mine would be more like, "Kick-ass motherfucking gorgeous writing like I've never seen. *high-five*"

...which is probably why I'm never quoted on book covers...

*Opinions expressed at Donuts and Desires are those of Giselle Renarde and do not necessarily represent the views of her cats.*