The Big Freeze, Déjà vu All over again -- only sexy!

The arctic blasts of the past few weeks, complete with cancellations, supermarket hoardings, and transportation delays, bring back memories of last year’s big freeze. So does news of the electrical malfunctions on the Eurostar caused by the cold. I was coming home from Paris on the Eurostar last year when the cold blast hit. And the train stopped.

As the carriage got darker and darker, as the canteen closed down and the apologies and updates from the conductor became fewer and farther between, we all secretly wondered if there was something we weren’t being told, possibly something a little more sinister going on… After a few hours in the dark, under the English Channel without food or liquid refreshment, people do get a bit tetchy.

Through it all, I couldn’t keep from eavesdropping on the two passengers sitting behind us. One of them was a young woman. The second was an elderly gentleman who was retired Royal Air Force. The woman was claustrophobic. The fear in her voice was palpable, though she did her best to keep panic at bay and maintain dignity.

I listened, off and on, for four and a half hours while the gentleman kept her in light conversation, asking all the right questions while regaling her with stories from his days in the military. Every time the panic reemerged in her voice, there was another interesting story, or another question about her job, or how she liked living in London, or what her hobbies were.

At last the train was mercifully towed out of the tunnel and into Ashford. Those of us who knew we weren’t going to get home even if we did make it on to London were given accommodations for what was left of the night at Eurostar’s expense. As my husband and I sat in our comfy room enjoying beer and chicken salad sandwiches, I wondered what other ways one might keep one’s mind off being in a pitch black train stalled under a bazillion gallons of water.

Of course the answer was obvious. Wouldn’t hot, hammering sex keep ones mind off these less than stellar circumstances? If so, what would that sex be like, with an unseen partner offering comfort in a sightless world completely dependent on the other senses. And Viola! The Initiation of Ms Holly was born. It was natural for a mythology buff like me to link the sightless grope-fest unfolding in my mind with the story of Psyche and Eros. How would our modern day Psyche pursue her hidden Eros, and what obstacles might she face if she lived in London and had to undergo initiation to gain access to a twenty-first century Mount Olympus in order to be with her Eros, in order to even see his face?

Big cotton knickers, white chocolate willies, trains stranded under the English Channel… Inspiration is often an ambush -- full on, head-over-heals, rough and tumble leading to places a very long and convoluted way from where it all began.

The Initiation of Ms Holly will be published this fall by Xcite Books, at which time all that is hidden shall be revealed...

BWE 2010 is Sexy!

Sex SF has included Best Women's Erotica 2010 on its ten sexy books of 2009 list.

Granny Knickers and White Chocolate Willies

With guest arriving for lunch in less than two hours, me still in sweats and the house still in need of a good hoovering, I’m hard at work researching a story. I’m browsing the cotton granny knickers in the Sainsbury clothing department. As I try to decide whether white knickers will be best or if tiny pink flowers might be a nice touch, my brain is contemplating the sexiness of large cotton underpants. I decide on plain white and hurry to meet my husband near the checkout, where he glances impatiently at his watch.

The hoovering gets done, and I manage a shower and slap on some make-up. It’s a lovely lunch with good conversation and good friends. It’s great catching up and reminiscing. But as we talk about recipes and walking in Snowdonia, in the back of my mind I consider how loose granny panties would have to fit before one could tie the crotch in a knot.

I serve up pudding wondering how cotton knickers taste dripped in caramel sauce, or how one would feel if one received a pair under the Christmas tree, all wrapped up in gold paper, with a sexy note from a lover. Over coffee, I think about what a spanking might feel like through white cotton knickers, and as we say good-bye at the door, the story begins to form in my head.

Now the house is quiet, and I sit at the computer with a cup of tea, sucking on white chocolate willies – a gift from a friend, who somehow just intuited I would be the type to enjoy rude chocolate. I know I’m surrounded by lots of things that aren’t sexy, but as I think about granny knickers and the spark of a story I wonder just how many things, everyday things that I have yet to contemplate are sexy, or at least could be with a little imagination and enough rude chocolate.