Cover of Never Say Never edited by Alison Tyler

The Never Say Never Blog Tour…Plus, a Confession

All right everyone, today is a special day—I’m excited to be the next stop on Alison Tyler’s Never Say Never Blog Tour! Since this book is all about partners exploring their kinky desires, I’ve decided to pick my favorite chapters, mash them together, and share a little experience of my own…

So to start, I must confess: I am an exhibitionist.

*Sigh.* There, that feels nice.

It took many years for me to recognize that this turned me on, but now that I’m there, I can trace the desire back to an experience I had at 19. My then-boyfriend and I had been together for a while, and we’d spent several months trying to get me off. We’d tried everything—or what I believed was everything, at age 19—but it wasn’t happening. Eventually we ended up working Renaissance Faire together (that’s a story and a half for another time), where I started exploring and playing with what I liked and didn’t. I also met all sorts of people open about their kinks and cravings—one of whom happened to be an extremely handsome and flirtatious friend of my boyfriend.

One day, my boyfriend and I escaped the noise that is Ren Faire—bells chiming, families laughing, choirs singing, trees rustling, and actors soliloquizing at the top of their lungs—for an afternoon adventure in our makeshift cabin. We had curtains to shield our bed from the trail running behind us, but that day, neither of us thought to close them. When my boyfriend went down on me, he had no idea that my heart suddenly raced less for what he was doing, but for the wonder that someone might happen to pass by… So imagine my surprise when I opened my eyes to discover his friend a few feet away on the trail.

He stopped cold, and slowly, silently, he smiled.

And then he watched.

He didn’t move, and neither did I. In fact, I clearly remember holding rigidly still beneath my boyfriend’s affections save for the curling of my toes, feeling my blood rise in my cheeks as my thoughts spun wildly over what was happening. And it was right as his friend mouthed the words You’re beautiful that I came for the first time with another person…or apparently, in my case, two.

Years later, I recognize the desire to be seen as something I crave. It’s one of a long list of “kinkier” things I enjoy, and voicing them is not as scary or taboo anymore—especially with the right partner. Instead, they form a potential adventure.

Which leads me to the point of this post: Alison Tyler’s Never Say Never: Tips, Tricks and Erotic Inspiration for Lovers. The book is a how-to guide of sorts, but more than that, it’s a wonderful blend of kinky adventures, tips, and tales designed to break couples out of vanilla inhibitions and into sexual exploration.

Never Say Never cover

The book covers a ton of kinky ground, from voyeurism and exhibitionism (gee, wonder which chapter was my favorite), to spanking, role-playing, soft swapping, and much, much more. What I loved most was how Ms. Tyler managed to seamlessly weave tips with stories. Each chapter focused on one topic as introduced by her lovely voice, using story snippets to both rile and explain with clever commentary (I particularly loved that of the chapters entitled “Slippery When Wet—Cunnilingus,” “Close Your Eyes—Blindfolds,” and “Naughty, Naughty—Spanking”). Then after a summary of highlights for the section, she masterfully chose a sexy story to follow.

And what better way to get couples exploring than to explain and demonstrate?

The glory of this book is that one can pick a chapter or topic that appeals, absorb the tips, and then share the story with a partner as a first step toward broaching a fantasy or desire. The how-to voice crossed with fiction makes this book better than your average guide—it’s almost like having a super sexy tour guide let you in on The Best Sexual Adventure You’re About To Have Ever!…and then she opens up a big door of fantasy fiction to prove it to you. It’s positively delightful.

There were numerous wonderful stories and snippets in here, but the full-length pieces that thrilled me most were “Savory” by Georgia E. Jones, “Afternoon Strip” by N.T. Morley, “Margarita Magic” by Thomas S. Roche, and Tyler’s own “Is That Man Bothering You?” Still, it needs to be said again—Ms. Tyler’s playful narration throughout the book is gold, and because of that, this book is sure to entertain, inspire, and revive…

And maybe even draw some new fantasies to the surface. 😉

To prove how delicious the merging of guide-with-snippets in this book is, here’s a brief yet steamy excerpt from one of my favorite chapters, “Slippery When Wet—Cunnilingus”:

I’ve written about oral delights in more stories than I can lick—I mean, count. Sometimes, my characters talk about what’s happened in the past, like in this clip from “Burned”:

I’ d told him about the time she splayed me on the kitchen floor and licked my pussy for hours without letting me come, a candle in her hand, drip-dripping wax all over my body whenever I got too close to climax.

I’ve penned that first breath of a tongue on a lover’s pussy, like in “Seeing Stars”:

We were nine floors up. But we were on top of the world, on top of Los Angeles. His mouth crested over my pussy, not locking on, not licking in. He was teasing me. I was shuddering. 

And then I’ve moved on to the main event, as in “Zachary’s Bed”:

I moan as he spreads me with his thumbs, parts my nether lips like the petals of a flower. I moan again as his warm mouth opens and he slides his tongue in crazy circles there, where I need him, there, and I can’t keep from shifting my hips to the rhythm he sets with his tongue, rocking with him while he laps at me. Laps and licks and kisses me with his magic tongue.   

“Zachary—” I am begging, beyond shame, straining at the ties that won’t allow me to reach him. I need to touch him, need my hands on his skin, my nails digging down his back, my fingers twisting in his still-wet hair.

“Sh, Risa.” I feel the words against my skin rather than hear them, feel the gentle motion of his mouth and tongue echoing inside me. 

“Please.” I arch as I say it. Desperate.

“Sh, darling,” he croons in the lullaby voice that has infiltrated my fantasies. “Sh, Risa,” he whispers as I slide on the slippery sheets, pressing hard against his lovely mouth.

Of course, when things really get heated, I like pushing the envelope as far as settings go, like in this gang-bang piece, “Last Call”:

Brody pulls my panties down then, and I raise my hips up to help him, but I don’t stop stroking those cocks. I feel energized, as if I could do this all night. The low, hungry sighs of the men is payment enough. I am the center, the focus of attention, and I bask in the glow.

Brody dives back between my thighs, and I bend my knees and splay for him, back arching. He’s so good. Declan knows how to eat me, knows all the tricks and turns I love best. But there’s something unreal about having that magic moustache run over my pussy lips and against my inner thighs. 

    • “Burned” appeared in The Big Book of Bondage
    • “Seeing Stars” appeared in One Night Only, edited by Violet Blue
    • “Zachary’s Bed” appeared in Naughty Stories from A to Z
    • “Last Call” appeared in Morning, Noon, and Night

**

So good! If you haven’t picked up this book yet, I highly recommend you do. You can find it on Amazon by clicking right here.

After reading it, I hope you all find a fun new adventure to try in the near future…

XX,
Jade

About Alison Tyler:

Called a “Trollop with a Laptop” by East Bay Express, Alison Tyler is naughty and she knows it. Her sultry short stories have appeared in more than 100 anthologies including Coupling edited by Sommer Marsden and Sex for America edited by Stephen Elliott. She is the author of more than 25 erotic novels, most recently Dark Secret Love and The Delicious Torment, and the editor of more than 75 explicit anthologies, including Alison’s Wonderland and 69. Visit www.alisontyler.com 24/7 as she’s a total insomniac.

 

Image of woman in stilettos reading a book in chair and looking up to the sky elated

Brilliance: I Want to Lick Your Brain

I have a strong suspicion this post should be subtitled Jade A. Waters Insanely Squeals About Her Crushes and Idols, but that seems so long.

Nonetheless, you’ve been warned.

Here’s the deal—the other day on Twitter, Valerie Alexander pointed out a kick ass song. It’s the Lana Del Rey version of “Once Upon a Dream” for the upcoming movie Maleficent. This song sent me squealing for a few reasons: I love Sleeping Beauty, I love the character of Maleficent, and most of all, every time I hear a Lana Del Rey song, I nearly want to lick her brain. I find her mesmerizing and clever, and her music gets me all worked up because it’s so hauntingly good.

To clarify, “I want to lick your brain” is not the same as a crush. For example, the aforementioned movie Maleficent stars one of my lifetime girl crushes—Angelina Jolie. She shares that title with Jennifer Connelly (come on, did you see her in, oh…every movie she ever did?), but these are still just crushes. And don’t even get me started on my male crushes—that list is so long I could write posts for years, starting with one on Hugh Jackman, in Wolverine and tap dancer form, separate or together. (Um, okay. Let’s go with together.)

But back to Lana…she’s one I want to brain-lick. She inspires thoughts and admiration, and a complete desire to somehow capture her essence in order to fire something creative in me. That is what it means to want to lick someone’s brain.

Let’s take another example. Remember Christopher Pike? He’s the author of such YA books as Whisper of Death, Remember Me, and Season of Passage. He rocked my reading world from age nine to eleven, and I still revisit his wickedly crafty writing about once a year. Now, granted, I do have a little crush on him because he’s SO DAMN BRILLIANT, and men who are that clever usually send a tingle up my spine, so we’ll call him a hybrid. That is, if I met Mr. Pike, I’d not only want to tongue every firing nerve in his head, but, I’d also willingly strip and lie down in the middle of the road to do whatever he asked. He’s just that good—he inspires me and turns me on. What a lucky fella. (Eh-hm. Paging Mr. Pike…)

Woman in stilettos sitting on a chair breaking from her book to stare at the ceiling in delight.

So. Damn. Good.

Most people I want to brain-lick can be classified as idols, but the term doesn’t seem to do them justice. A perfect example is Shanna Germain. This is a woman who is so brilliant that every time I finish one of her stories, I put the book down and utter a very loud, “Holy shit, Shanna, you’re fucking amazing.” Yes: Every. Single. Time. She is so inspiring I wish I could slow dance with her for hours in the hopes that I might mystically absorb some of her thoughts through proximity.

Another example is Alison Tyler. I’ve been worshipping her brain since I found her a few years back in Bedding Down with “It’s Not the Weather.” Nothing she writes disappoints—she’ll usually leave you stunned, stupefied, delighted, and wanting more. Then you add to Ms. Tyler’s phenomenal writing magic that she happens to be one of the nicest people on the planet, and maybe you can understand why I classify her as a brain-lick recipient. (Bonus: she’ll be hitting my blog next week for her Never Say Never blog tour. But put your tongue back in your mouth—I get her brain first.)

I have other brain-lick loves, but this post could go on for a while and I might sound a little crazier than I already do. Instead, I’m going to turn the question around on you—what’s your ultimate compliment for brilliance? Is it, “You’re fucking brilliant,” “You’re my idol,” “I want to capture your essence in a bottle,” or something else?

And more importantly, who is the recipient of your adoration, affection, and brain worshipping?

XX,
Jade

The Accidental Cougar Blog Tour!

While researching the adult industry one day, I discovered that—according to various escort classifications—I am a mere month away from being a cougar.

This was a little surprising to me as I’m about to turn 35, and while I expect I might end up part-cougar one day, I was sure I was still a puma (cougar in training) until at least 40!

Fortunately, I wasn’t fazed. I have always admired cougars, both on film and in print—and this is why I’m excited about my guest and her new book! The sweet and legendary Sommer Marsden is here, and today, she’s going to tell us about vulnerability, house parties, and one super sexy cougar and cub pairing.

So without further adieu…take it away, Sommer!

Cover of The Accidental Cougar by Sommer Marsden

Vulnerable is a scary word…

In The Accidental Cougar Abbey finds herself vulnerable in many ways. Some of them aren’t really under her control. For instance, how she’s beginning to feel about young, handsome Charlie despite how many reasons her racing mind can supply not to. Others, she finds herself submitting to willingly despite nervousness. She trusts Charlie so she makes herself vulnerable in situations that seem completely foreign to a forty-something woman who’s been with the same man for more than half her life.

Such as a house party.

The house party scene finds Abbey surrounded by people much younger than herself and trying hard to fit in without pretending to be someone she’s not. A difficult position that would leave even the most stoic of us struggling.

Ironically, this wasn’t a hard scene to write. When it comes to large parties with lots of people I don’t know I can give social anxiety a run for its money. When I wrote it, I’d also just watched one of my favorite 80’s movies Jennifer 8 and felt that Christmas Eve party scene served as good inspiration for how turned around and upside down Abbey was feeling.

XOXO

Sommer

From THE ACCIDENTAL COUGAR by Sommer Marsden

 

“Ladies, this is Charlie’s date, Abby. Abby, this is my girlfriend Beverly.” The long legged, brunet with startling blue eyes nodded. She was decked out in skinny jeans, ankle boots and a gray sweater that played up those eyes to perfection.

She smiled at me but the smile didn’t touch her eyes. “And this is Dan’s girl Angie. And here we have Shea, Kendall’s girlfriend.” The two blondes turned to eye me up. Both gave equally stiff smiles and they muttered “hi”.

“I’m taking Charlie boy down to bail first. Otherwise I won’t get a day’s work out of him,” Ken said.

Charlie had found us and he gave me a reassuring smile. “I’ll be right back.”

I could feel the three witches—I mean girls—watching me and I had to think fast. “Do you mind showing me to the powder room before you go?”

One of the girls slid her eyes my way and I held my breath when she said, “Oh, I can show her, Charlie.”

Charlie felt my arm go tense. I’d looped it through his just for the contact. I hated this.

Hated feeling out of place. Hated feeling desperate not to be alone with people. I’d conquered my mild social anxiety years ago. When you have young kids you can’t be shy. But this—this was worse than anything I’d ever encountered. I felt ready to bolt like a frightened horse.

“That’s okay, Bev. It’s on the way.” He maneuvered me through the candle and flashlight lit home. People banged into us, some laughing too hard, some caught in quiet conversation.

“Please don’t leave me,” I said. I felt my face grow hot and red with blush. Thank God he couldn’t see.

We stopped in front of the bathroom. Someone had thought to put a tall sconce with a candle inside on the sink. That way no one would drown in the toilet.

“It’s fine. I promise. I’ll go bail.” He waved his Solo cup and laughed. “Take my turn, do my duty and come rescue you. Then we can find a dark corner and make out. It’ll be really dirty and fun.”

I laughed. I couldn’t help myself. That part of the scenario sounded nice. The part where he’d go bail and leave me up here, not so much. I sighed. “I’ll be fine. I’m being a baby.”

He hugged me, kissed me once on the lips while someone by the basement steps yelled, “Charlie! No escaping your man-duty, dude!”

“I’ll be right back, Ace. Promise.”

“I’ll be fine,” I said, lying full-on to his face.

I went to the bathroom, watched myself in the large vanity mirror as I washed my hands.

I looked younger in the candlelight. Maybe I could carry a candle around on all my dates with Charlie.

Tears pricked my eyes. “Stop the pity party, Ace,” I said to myself in the mirror. The crazy yellow-orange flickering glow matched how tumultuous I felt inside. “You’re a grown woman who should be able to stand with a handful of twenty-somethings and have a conversation. Even if you’re faking it.”

Instead of leaving, I sat on the edge of the tub and tried to let time pass. So what if they thought I’d died in here? So what if I’d told Charlie I’d try and have fun but instead had tucked myself away from the party? So what?

Someone banged on the door and I jumped. I glanced at my phone’s illuminated screen.

Only about ten minutes had passed but it was long enough that people were probably waiting to come in.

“Yo! Someone needs to get in there!” the mystery person called.

“Coming!” I yelled. I stood, inhaled deeply and opened the door.

A guy with his cap on backwards ushered a girl inside. She wasn’t looking too steady on her feet and judging by the way she lurched toward the toilet, she wasn’t feeling too steady either. I managed to slip out the door before the retching began.

Since it was dark and only lit by splashes of orange candle glow or stark white flashlight illumination, I seemed to ping-pong from cluster of people to cluster of people. I took a left thinking I’d find the girls again—not that I was in any hurry to see them, but instead I found myself by the front door. I overheard someone say, “…as old as my mom. At least.”

I turned on my heels and tried the opposite direction.

They’re not necessarily talking about you. I tried to talk myself down but I wasn’t buying it. Who else would they be talking about? I hadn’t seen any other forty-somethings here at this noisy house party. Just me and a bunch of kids.

Blurb:

What would be the harm in a little fling? What would be so bad about bedding a young man who could technically be my son? He wasn’t my son. He wasn’t my anything. But he could possibly, if I could unclench my ass long enough, be my lover.

My lover.

What was so bad?

 

Buy Links:

Excessica: http://www.excessica.com/books/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=42&products_id=697

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00JX7KZ1U/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B00JX7KZ1U&linkCode=as2&tag=sommmars-20

B&N: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-accidental-cougar-sommer-marsden/1119329616?ean=2940149318216

All Romance Ebooks: https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-theaccidentalcougar-1487017-149.html

 

Author Bio:

Professional dirty word writer, gluten free baker, sock addict, fat wiener dog walker, expert procrastinator. Called “one of the top storytellers in the erotic genre” by Violet Blue, Sommer Marsden writes for HarperCollins Mischief, Ellora’s Cave, Excessica, Xcite Books and Resplendence Publishing. She’s the author of numerous erotic novels including Lost in You, Restricted Release, Boys Next Door, Restless Spirit, and Learning to Drown. Visit http://sommermarsden.blogspot.com

*

Thanks so much for joining us, Sommer!

And oh, I can’t wait to get my hands on this one! (Or to potentially be a cougar, for that matter.)

XX,
Jade

 

 

Picture of panties around red shoes

Me Against the Music

Chances are, you already saw Round Three of Alison Tyler’s Smut Marathon. (If you didn’t, get on over there right now and VOTE!) This one was quite interesting for me—Alison Tyler asked us to write a short piece inspired by whatever song we wanted. Sounds so easy, right?

Um…nope.

See, I love music—but apparently I’m very particular about when I listen to it. The problem is that I’m a singer and a dancer, so I am virtually incapable of listening to music without joining in or bopping around in one way or another. To be clear, I sing all the time in my house, and my neighbors can probably tell you how annoying this is since I love practicing for Karaoke Night in the shower—even when it’s not Karaoke Night. Hell, even if it’s five in the morning. Whatever. I’m singing and dancing in the shower, the living room, the kitchen…

This limits most of my music consumption to two occasions: while I’m driving in my car, and while I’m working out (no, I don’t sing there). Sometimes, I listen when I clean, but often I forget to turn it on and am done before I think of it.

So here Alison Tyler rolls around and asks us to use a song for inspiration. For some reason, I translated this into attempting to listen to music while writing. FAIL. Every time I played the song and broke to write, I kept singing the lyrics—and did you know, it’s quite hard to write what’s in your head when you’re singing along to what someone else wrote from inside her head? Yeah. Impossible. Or at least, it was for me.

I’m sure I’m not alone in this, but my impression is that many writers are inspired by music and use it to motivate them to write. I think that’s amazing, because it distracts the hell out of me. I can listen to it well in advance and maybe get a feeling or two, but the tune that works best when I’m writing is the sound of my fingers flying over the keyboard and the story blaring itself through my head.

Fine, fine. Other authors don’t use music. Phew. I’m not alone…

But wait.

It occurs to me this problem of mine extends beyond writing—I prefer not to have sex to music, either. No, really. It’s that bad. I won’t stop mid-encounter and say, “Wait! Stop! We must turn off the music!” or anything, but I prefer these things on their own. When it comes to sex, I love every little sound—the catch of a breath, the roll of a budding moan, the smack of skin on skin, and even the gentle brush of a caress. All of that is incredibly sexy to me. And when it comes to music, I’m so overjoyed to hear said clever artist syncing this lyric with that bridge or wickedly intriguing tone that I can’t fully acclimate. In truth, there is some poor bloke out there who can tell you about an 18-year-old me more interested in cooing over Fiona Apple’s Tidal album than our make out session (all right, this might have had more to do with my mediocre enthusiasm about the encounter, but still, I feel for the guy).

Now, I have a friend who is obsessed with music, and he informs me this problem only happens because my “partner isn’t doing it right,” otherwise I’d “connect with the music and the man.” Huh. An interesting theory. Ironically, this friend and I briefly dated years ago, and while we never had sex, he did effectively seduce me in a slow dance to some seriously sexy songs…so okay, maybe he’s right.

Or, maybe I’m just a weirdo. I don’t know. Music and me: it’s a strange relationship. I’m not saying these things never happen simultaneously, but on the whole, I guess I like to savor my activities separately.

Now I’m curious—does anyone else have a problem pairing music with [fill in your chosen activity]? I’d love to know. Please share…or just tell me I’m crazy.

Either way, please don’t forget to vote. I worked hard on this round! 😉

XX,
Jade

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