In the next week or so my editor copies of
Smooth: Erotic Stories for Women (once upon a time called Naked, but it's been a big year for me of changing book titles, but still hot and bare bodied as ever!) and I wanted to share this sexy excerpt from
Angela Caperton's story "Löyly" that's on the PGW site. There's lots of hotness in the book, including a tattoo story
and a tattoo removal story!
You can pre-order
Smooth now or I'll have 10 early copies to give away to those who promise to write an Amazon.com review within a month of receipt and are in the US (if you can't review, please DON'T request a copy - should be obvious but, um, not so much). I do those giveaways usually via
Twitter but this is a heads up; send your Amazon.com profile (so I know you've purchased from them at least once and are eligible, via their terms) and your US mailing address with "Amazon" in the subject line to nakedantho at gmail.com and I'll send the first 10 people books as soon as they arrive. More about this book as we get closer to pub date. For now, do check out the
Fast Girls virtual book tour and
Orgasmic blog. Soon I'll get the
Smooth site in order and links to all the lovely places you can purchase it.
Description:
The caress of skin against skin, the warmth of another’s touch, relishing the sight that few others get to see – these are the reasons that disrobing before sex can be so gratifying. The stories in Smooth, collected by award-winning erotica editor Rachel Kramer Bussel, capture the heat of being stripped bare, of flaunting your body, and of reveling in pure sensuality. Read along as women get tattooed, become “the sushi girl” at a restaurant, strip on the subway, go commando, host tea parties, enjoy sploshing and much more. Featuring stories by Donna George Storey, Heidi Champa, Angela Caperton, Charlotte Stein, Louisa Harte, Jacqueline Applebee, Susan St. Aubin and more, these adventurous characters have more to reveal than just being naked.
Excerpt:
Löyly
by Angela Caperton
Alone, at the north end of nowhere, I looked out through the rented Equinox’s windshield at the green roof of the hotel. Copper. Copper had been king in this part of Michigan a lifetime ago. In a more civilized place, the owners of the hotel might have to hire a private army to keep thieves from stripping the roof, but not out here?it was too far away from anything to warrant the attention of scavengers.
I really had lost my mind. What the fuck was I going to do at a snowbound resort on Lake Superior in fucking November? Damn you to hell, Jeff. “Best snowmobiling in the country! You’ll love it!”
“You’ll love it,” I mimicked as I clutched the steering wheel and contemplated spinning out of the driveway and hauling ass back to Savannah.
A young man--puppy, really--stepped smartly down the wide steps that lead to a wide wraparound porch. His navy blue parka was unzipped, the hotel logo shining gold on the right shoulder. He walked around the front of the SUV and opened the driver’s door.
“Welcome to Sorrow Cove!” He puffed mist and the blast of cold air that slapped me in the face nearly killed me. I shut off the engine of the SUV, took the keys and my purse, and exited the car.
The young man efficiently scribbled information on a claim ticket and I handed him the keys.
“Your name, miss?” he asked as he made notes on the ticket.
“Andie Fortner.”
He nodded and handed me the claim ticket. “Your luggage in the back?”
“Yes.”
“My name’s Luke. I’ll park your car and take your bags to your room, Miss Fortner. Enjoy your stay at Sorrow Cove.” He grinned at me with genuine hospitality and I found my cheeks cracking against the cold to return it.
“Thank you,” I managed, hoping my dismay at my own idiocy didn’t echo in the words.
He drove away. I stood for a moment in the grey slush of the driveway and stared up at the mammoth Queen Anne style mansion, water dripping in a steady stream from its gutters. Snow covered every inch of the landscape, weighing down massive boughs of cedars and evergreens, topping winter-bare hedges and what I imagined were lush lawns in the summer.
Snow. Goddamn snow.
“Fuck,” I said under my breath as I made my way into the hotel.
I stared at the dull mourning-grey ceiling of the spacious room. A deliciously soft bed cradled me in the warmth of my own body. I didn’t want to move, didn’t dare breach the cocoon I’d wrapped around myself. Jeff should have been there with me, his strong arms around me, his cock nudging my ass, a living alarm clock. He liked fucking in the mornings, liked working out the kinks with a ride or a suck. Bastard.
Why had I listened to Sonia? “Just go, honey! It’s already paid for, I bet there aren’t any refunds. Extending his contract in Riyadh was Jeff’s choice?not yours.”
No more. Jeff had blown me off more times than I could count, and this little vacation had been his idea, not mine. I pulled the covers over my head and spent the next several minutes envisioning Jeff being eaten by cannibal Eskimos.
I groaned and shoved the covers away, letting the blast of morning air temper my resolve. I wasn’t going to stay in bed and wallow. After all, Lake Superior was practically at my doorstep and I had made it this far. Within an hour I had showered, dressed, and armed myself with a map, determination, and a pocket full of credit cards. A little breakfast and I’d be ready to tackle anything.
Except a blizzard.
I stepped off the stairs into the lobby, dominated by wide bay windows that provided guests with a glorious view of the cove, the lake, and the woods on the east side of the estate. This morning the view was monochromatic, swirling, thick white with whiter highlights battering the panes of glass. I ignored the ball of unease forming in my stomach and walked into the empty dining room, the massive fireplace on one end filling the room with warmth and the pleasant scent of burning wood. A young woman in tight jeans and a thick sweater smiled at me and motioned. “Please, have a seat. Can I get you coffee?”
“Black.” I looked out the windows again and smiled. “Big.”
I ate my breakfast in silence, watched a few couples come and go, listened to the murmurs of quiet conversation and willed the snow to stop. I can handle a lot of things, but a big SUV in a white-out was not one of them.
Full of coffee and breakfast, I made my way to the front desk. “Good morning, Ms. Fortner. How can I help you?”
“What can you tell me about the weather?”
The clerk’s bald head nearly blushed. “The snow should slow by tomorrow.”
“Slow?”
“Yes, we’re in for a few days of it here, but tomorrow the snowmobiling and cross country skiing should be excellent.”
“I was hoping to do a little sightseeing actually, maybe some shopping.”
He didn’t laugh, didn’t even smile, but I could feel his desire to do both. “The roads to town are closed right now, Ms. Fortner. They should be open tomorrow, once the plows come through.”
I nodded as I envisioned myself holed up for days, only one room service tray away from hanging myself with shoelaces.
“My credit cards are safe for another day,” I said sardonically.
“There’s a game room to the left, and a small gym and indoor pool behind the dining room. And the sauna. It’s not in the main building, but you can get to it from the pool area, or from the hall exit. Just follow the walkway.”
I looked out the windows at the endless falling wall of white. Sure. Just follow the walkway. My luck, I’d end up in Canada.
“Thank you,” I said, and headed back up the stairs to my room, kicking myself in the ass all the way. I should have fucking held out for Martinque.
I’d been surprised by the pool, really. I knew from making the reservations that the resort had a pool, but I wasn’t expecting a pool I could actually do laps in. Who knew the tundra tribe understood the needs of us south-coasters. The heated water and condensation on the broad bay windows made me feel at home?except for the snow beyond, of course.
I swam for an hour, then I dragged my pruned body out of the pool, showered in the little changing room, and stepped back out on the deck to stand transfixed by the vista beyond the foggy windows. While annoyed by the shitty weather, I loved the beauty and serenity of the snowfall. The large flakes drifted down completely at the whim of whatever wind might blow. Some fell heavy, wet, like obese calcified raindrops, others drifted to the ground in intricate Zen paths.
The perfect blanket over the ground amazed me. Painted green, the smoothness of the carpet would have been the envy of Augusta National.
Except for the quickly filling divots leading off into the veil. Footprints made not long ago, headed toward what?
The sauna. Someone apparently had a GPS and had found the temple of Sorrow Cove.
The grin started in my belly, and without a moment’s analysis, I wrapped my robe around myself, scuffed on my rubber clogs and found the door leading outside. The blast of cold air almost made me run back to my room, but I had to do this?I had to beat the elements, had to take control of the vacation I’d never wanted but had inherited. If this trip was going to have any meaning, I needed to make it my own, not let it stay Jeff’s irrelevancy.
The snow kissed my hair and clung to my robe, the cold air keeping it from melting right away...
Read the whole story in
Smooth: Erotic Stories for Women!
Smooth: Erotic Stories for Women
Edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel
Introduction: Naked Girls in All Their Glory
Löyly Angela Caperton
Her Brand New Skin Elizabeth Coldwell
Eden Molly Slate
Three Stops Away Heidi Champa
The Sushi Girl Anika Gupta
This Night Suzanna V. Slate
Ink Jennifer Peters
Adornment is Power Teresa Noelle Roberts
Muscle Bound K D Grace
Shower Fittings Giselle Renarde
Clean Slate Lisabet Sarai
Live Action Susan St. Aubin
Chilly Girl Rachel Kramer Bussel
Stripped Clancy Nacht
The Tea Party Charlotte Stein
Rapunzel Jacqueline Applebee
Getting the Message Kay Jaybee
Ivy League Associates Donna George Storey
True Colors Louisa Harte
Introduction: Naked Girls in All Their Glory
Smooth. Sleek. Naked. Bare. All of these words describe the women you’ll find in this book, women who let you peek beneath their skirt hems, unbutton their blouses, reach inside their panties and in so doing, reveal something essential about themselves. They aren’t content to simply let sex happen, but are compelled to explore the ways their bodies react to every tactile moment.
These are not stories about body image or learning to love your curves. These are sensual tales in which women and men celebrate the joy of being carnal, lusty, hungry and animalistic; stories in which the urge to get naked, in the literal and figurative senses, drives women to boldly go where they haven’t before.
In the opening story, the stunning sauna romp “Löyly,” by Angela Caperton, Sorrow Cove becomes a very happy place when our heroine, Andie, submits to a sensual beating in the intense heat. Caperton writes, “Blood pounded in my veins and pooled suspiciously in my belly. Anticipation added an edge of tension and vulnerability before the bright shock of the strike. It wasn’t hard, but the leaves laced my skin with firm control, a lush wetness and a shimmer of sting that slashed my back with an awakening charge of delight. I closed my eyes, savoring the moment, the fresh scent of the birch binding me in a cloud of awareness and newfound sensation.”
Food and sex are clearly twin appetites waiting to be released, and in “The Sushi Girl,” by Anika Gupta, they converge in a work setting for the narrator as she balances raw fish on her body. She doesn’t just lie there, though; she engages with her customers, lets them look and taste even as she makes sure her naked body, while still, speaks loudly.
Each of these women are stripped, whether literally, as in Clancy Nacht’s story of the same name, or in some other way that leaves them vulnerable, exposed, open to whoever they’ve let enter their most personal space. Even when they are acting as voyeurs, watching others strip down, as in “Live Action,” by Susan St. Aubin, they are being changed by what they see, by the skin that speaks to them and their fantasies.
For other characters, adorning their bodies—with tattoos in “Ink,” by Jennifer Peters, or the sensual strokes of a paintbrush in “True Colors,” by Louisa Harte—is a way to live a more vibrant, outspoken life, and their reward is a richer sex life than they’d had before. That makes sense, because when we bare all, we invite others to touch, to feel every curve, every bend, every inch of skin.
Ultimately, this is a book about getting to know your body from the outside in, about showing yourself off for a lover and knowing the power the naked body holds. At the gym, in the shower, on the subway, at a tea party, the women in
Smooth leave behind their inhibitions and go where many women have only dreamed about. Sexy, playful, sensual and celebratory, these nineteen stories will be sure to entice you as they reveal so much skin.
Rachel Kramer Bussel
New York City
