Lust Bites

I learn stuff when I write. Which is one of the reasons I love to write. I knew that the Thames froze over pretty often in years gone by but had never sat and wondered how and why. When I set out to write a book about the last one, held in 1814, I needed to find this stuff out.

This is the science bit so please concentrate.



Aside from global warming, there's a good reason why the Thames doesn't freeze up now - it's the bridges. Old London Bridge was supported by many piers, each one leaving a much smaller gap than any modern bridge - and this acted like a dam. Chunks of ice floated against the bridges - and like one of those pushing slot machines - the ice jammed up, and the river froze over. When the new bridge was built in 1831, the gaps were larger and the Thames didn't freeze again, or at least, not sufficiently to have a vast "Frost Fair" on the ice - and the famous fair of 1814 was the last one.

OK. That's your lot. On with the smut.

So - the reason behind the snow and ice science and the gratuitous pictures of half naked men in the snow?

Well, my book - Frost Fair is out tomorrow! So it seemed a good excuse.

Frost Fair is set in 1814 when the weather was pretty damned nippy to say the least. England was in a mini-ice age, but was gradually warming up.

It's officially a Regency in the time frame, but there's no drawing rooms, no Bath, no balls. (Well, there are balls--obviously, this is me we are talking about, but they are round and warm and squeezable and no-one dances in them.)


Gideon Frost is an impoverished printer, trying hard to keep his business afloat and only just managing it. To help make ends meet, from time to time he visits the areas notorious for male prostitution (Cock Lane, Lad Lane, and St Paul's Churchyard) to make a few extra shillings.

Then he falls in love--with a client--but not of the Lad Lane type, a client of his print shop and suddenly, when the object of his affection seems about to reciprocate, it's vital that Gideon's secret doesn't come out.

Here, as you can tell, my boys haven't quite got together yet...


Joshua was sure that he could help Gideon. As much as he longed to keep the man by his side forever, he couldn’t see him satisfied with the post of a valet forever. Schemes and ideas swirled around in Joshua’s head, each one more implausible than the last, each daydream sweeter than the one before. He imagined himself as Gideon’s mentor, his patron, setting him—one day—back in business with a new shop, a new press—“Sponsor: Joshua Redfern” across the shop door. And then one day, Gideon might turn to him in gratitude, slide his hand into his own and press those sweet lips to his face. Redfern felt himself hardening at the very thought of it, the way he always did whenever any daydreams of physical contact with Gideon plagued him.

He wondered how it would feel to have him naked and pliant, held tight against him. How his skin would feel, as his fingers traced the line of his backbone from that elegant neck, along the delicious curve of his back to the heaven—and entirely imaginary perfection of his arse. His cock
began to ache as he closed his eyes for a second and flexed his fingers, visualizing how that arse would feel as his hands closed over it. Lean, he was sure. Very little fat, and hard, harder when Gideon clenched... And what else, what delights awaited him... He shook his head and opened his
eyes, letting the vision and phantom body in his arms work its magic, letting the lust course down, down into his loins.

God. He was in danger of spending his seed here in his drawing room without even touching himself. If Gideon’s imaginary form could have this effect, what might his real body do? Whatever it might do, Joshua was quite sure it would not be a disappointment. He strode to the door and took the stairs two at a time, flinging open his bedroom door and slamming it behind him, grateful that he was currently without a valet.

In the seclusion of his room, he allowed himself to revisit his vision of Gideon, grateful, sweet and entirely naked in his arms. Releasing his cock from his breeches, he grasped it firmly, then groaned as the imaginary Gideon dropped to his knees and engulfed the end of Redfern’s swollen cock in that beautiful, wide mouth. Oh God, he thought. Would he look at me like I’m imagining he would as he swallows me? Would he welcome me as I move back and forwards in his mouth—like this? He pumped gently into his hand, his eyes tight closed as his vision lapped and sucked at him.

It was too much, too much. With one fist pressed hard against his mouth, he came, and his seed pulsed over his sliding fingers. It was needful, cathartic, but it wasn’t satisfying, and never would be until his dreams came true.

And another excerpt... a little later when they DO get together.

Gideon’s hands were in his hair, and his head was tipped back as he cried out softly with each fresh attack. He hooked a leg around Joshua’s, and ground his hips and a sizeable erection into Joshua’s hip.

Joshua needed no further invitation, pausing only to divest himself of breeches and boots before throwing himself down on top of the man, claiming his waiting kiss with his mouth and his eager hot cock with one hand. To his delight, Gideon grasped him in one swift and mutual movement and then finally, face to face, they paused and looked at each other. Joshua gave a growl as Gideon’s hand moved on his prick, oh so slowly but sure, firm and so bloody good. Gideon’s fingers slid down the shaft, teasing his sac with each downward movement and Joshua copied the action, watching Gideon’s face as it twisted in pleasure, taking kisses whenever he could and trying to remember to breathe.

God, he wasn’t going to last, that was certain. It had been too long, and he’d longed for this moment, imagined this too many times. “Gideon...” he whispered, “wait.” He moved his hand over the hot flesh in his hand, pulling and squeezing, loving every sound that Gideon made.

“Too late,” Gideon groaned, and Joshua kissed his words away as warm liquid flowed over his fingers. Gideon’s hand tightened around his shaft, causing Joshua to spend a moment later, hot and far too fast, like a schoolboy with his first fumble.

“Gideon...” He crushed Gideon into an embrace and took kiss after kiss until they were both breathless. “Heaven.”

It sure seems like heaven to me! I hope you enjoyed the smut (and the science!) and if you leave a comment, you might win a copy. I can supply a download pretty sharply, but the print version won't be out for a few weeks, and then I'll need to get copies from the publisher, so you'll need to be a little patient. There's further excerpts on my website, and on the publisher's page.

Keep warm! Shared bodily warmth, remember! Enjoy the video!


Erastes
www.erastes.com

Top facts:

* Sadly not yet published by Black Lace. I live in hope as they do have m/m/f plotlines.
* Covers. Usually pretty naff.(with the exception of those below)
* Committed Lusties, Erastes, Madelynne Ellis - hell, just about all of us!
In a nutshell

* There's not enough of it, for a start.
* Some Gay Historicals address the very real problems of being gay in a time when it wasn't just unacceptable, it was reviled and illegal. (Basically after Christianity kicked in) However, there were times when man on man love wasn't just acceptable, it was a normal part of everyday life. (The Greeks had a word for it.)
* Thankfully, due to pronouns they are not called things like "The Mediterranean Tycoon's Depraved Heiress" (With thanks to the Random Romance Title Generator)

The heroes

Not too different from the heroes in other historical romances. They are generally aristocratic (tall and handsome goes without saying - plus they are ALWAYS - always hung like horses, this is the law.) So, create your character: Rich, check. Commanding, check. Handsome, check. Cock of unusual size. Check and double check. OK, you can stop checking now.

The, er, OTHER heroes

Now here you can play around a little. You can either make your other hero a match for your arrogant alpha in every sense of the word (and sit back and watch those sparks fly and those buttons go flying (gotta have flying buttons, more later) OR you can create a sensitive little soul. A downtrodden artist, perhaps, or an impoverished tutor. A kidnapped sex slave or an abused and rescued young man. As long as you get a vast gulf between your alpha and your omega, it doesn't really matter. Any excuse to make that boy cry his little heart out because the rough tough alpha doesn't know how to handle him. Or rather - he doesn't know how to handle his feelings - he knows how to handle him all right. (hur hur) The important thing is the desecration of innocence - but don't worry. No matter how nasty the alpha is, your sensitive soul will fall in love with him as he tops from the bottom.

The best bit about writing gay historicals
* Buttons. Oh GOD the buttons. I've coined the term breeches ripper before, but for me waistcoat ripping is far more exciting. Also cravats. You can have a LOT of fun with cravats.
* UST. (No, no, not there, Unresolved Sexual Tension. Buckets and buckets of it. "I'm homosexual!++ Argh! God he's pretty. I wonder if he's homosexual too? How can I let him know? What if he's not? All right... so he is - he's sleeping with Lord [Whossit] - how can I get him?"A writer of gay historicals have immense fun torturing her characters - making every glance count, and when one's passing the port (to the left, of course) at dinner, fingertips are just bound to brush against each other.
* It's much easier to get men together on a day-to-day basis. Whereas a hetero historical writer will have to write about dances, and chaperones and perhaps elopements men can simply hang out with each other, ride in each other's carriages (and no, that's not a euphemism!) without anyone fainting or ruining anyone's reputation. Of course it's pretty difficult to get them into sexual situation, but that's another post...

The best bit about reading gay historicals

* Buttons! Ok, Is it just me and the button porn?
* Appreciating that the author knows exactly what the difference is between a sailor's whipping and a double fisherman but that you don't need to know anything as silly as long as the hero gets tied up.
* Sponge baths.
* Cocks! (sorry, but it did have to be said.) Lots of 'em. Members, yards, rods, poles, perches, arbor vitae, gaying instrument. (yes, really.)

Top tip: beige...biscuit...blasé bleeding anachronisms

Check check check. You may think that it's all right to say your hero's breeches are beige but it wasn't so and any eagle eyed reader will Mock You. They will, however realise if you are trying and make a small slip-up, but they won't appreciate sloppy (or no) research, modern day speech patterns and contemporary men in fancy dress.

What not to say

* “Where's the lube?”
* He climaxed, spunk spurting over his fingers.
* "He's got such a cute ass."

What to say

* “Spit, and have done, man.” (other lubricants are available...)
* GOOD LORD, SHAG HIM ALREADY!
* I'm learning something! Oooo... cocks....

Over to you...

* What gay historicals would you like to see?
* What cliches are you sick of?
* Do you want better covers?
* Anything else?

And if you are interested in finding out more: (and in a more sensible fashion)

Speak Its Name has The Definitive List of Gay Historical fiction.
The Macaronis: Fiction out of the Closet


++homosexual is also anachronistic until the early 20th century, too.

by Olivia Knight

With the beautiful new Black Lace covers came three new lines: paranormals, contemporaries, and historicals. Last Wednesday, Madeline Moore introduced contemporaries; the week before, I did the same for paranormals. Today, historicals are in the spotlight.

Top facts:
• Black Lace line: historicals
• Colour: red
• Committed Lusties, past and present: Deanna Ashford, Kristina Lloyd, Madelynne Ellis

In a nutshell
Historicals means place comma date. Russia, 1917. London, 1875. Paris, 1935. These are the authors who know what people ate in ancient Mesopotamia, what women wore under their dresses in the Renaissance, how long it takes to get from Rome to Egypt by horse and ship, and how to take off Elizabethan clothes. Plus the names for everything and what a ‘reticule’ is.

The heroes
Who wants to fuck peasants? Eww. Lords, Princes, Comtes, Marquises, and Earls are so much cleaner. You can have a slave, if he’s a nice washed well-educated Greek one, but not one of those nasty barbarians – unless he turns out to be from a pristine Druidic tribe in whose ancient and nature-embracing rituals… but I digress. If you prefer machismo to depraved aristocrats, then army captains, gladiators, and knights abound. Historical heroes are contrary creatures: he’ll either rescue you from debauchery then debauch you himself, be engaged to you and refuse to touch you, or make do with you occasionally but pine for your fiancé. Occasionally he’ll love you straight out – but he just has these pesky wars to fight / cities to conquer / manacles to break / lions to slay in the arena…

The heroines
These are the polar extremes of femininity. Whereas paranormal heroines get in some action between running their kingdoms and slaying mythical beasts, and contemporary heroines are lively, normal up-for-it girls, the historical heroines are either blushing virgins (well, at first…) or scandalous nymphomaniacs hosting secret societies of vice behind their gracious, period façades. Here, the contemporary brain-twister – how to keep her innocent – is the no-brainer. Peeling away the innocence is the fun part – deflowerment is always so delightful the second time around. More challenging is how to keep her in society post-deflowerment.


The best bit about writing historicals
• Ever said “I was born fifty years / a hundred years / twenty centuries too late”? Get in your Tardis and go back there!
• Built-in plot: it’s suddenly a lot easier to create tension when people really aren’t allowed to sleep together, when there really is a war on and no-one can accuse you of making it up for convenience, when characters really might die, in startlingly visceral ways.
• Holidays are reclassified as research: if you’re going to sweep the reader to another time and place, there’s just no avoiding that month in Greece, week in Rome, or weekend wandering the Left Bank in Paris. But let’s be honest: for historicals, there’s no escaping research, even if you escape the country for a bit.

The best bit about reading historicals
• Slaves! They’re big, they’re built of brick, and they have to do what you say. Plus they wear little white skirts.
• Naughtiness! In contemporaries, the only way left for us to transgress is to say wildly politically incorrect things like “Anal sex is just disgusting.” In paranormals, whatever your characters do is read as normal, in their world. If you want to get really naughty, back in time is the best place to go.
• Sex! It may seem anachronistic for a pair of Victorians to be at it like bunnies, but we’re all here – proving that people throughout history have been getting it on and taking off (or discreetly readjusting) some interesting clothes to do it.


Top tip: chronology
Shakespeare may have got away with his anachronisms, but if you put clocks in ancient Rome, readers will squeal. If it’s a turn-of-the-century ball, the chickens might be fine – though unexpected. The plane, however, will not be.

What not to say
• “She slipped on a pretty lace reticule and darted down the palladium to open the door.”
• “What the hell is a ‘kirtle’, anyway?”
• “But if it’s historical, don’t they have to be real people? I’m not sure it’s all true.”

What to say
• “She slid her fan out of her reticule and waited for the servant to open the door.”
• “It’s not porn, it’s educational.”
“The notion of what’s transgressive in other societies and times can shed significant light on our own, contemporary prejudices.”


Over to you...
• What period should you have been born in?
• What's your favourite historical-hero type?

SPEAK ITS NAME is out now!

What is this Speak Its Name of which you speak?

Call it SiN for short. It's a three-novella anthology of gay historical romance. Published by Linden Bay Romance and containing stories from Lee Rowan, Charlie Cochrane and Erastes.

Three novellas? Sounds like a bargain!

It is! Aftermath from Charlie Cochrane is a tale of 1920's Oxford Undergraduates, Gentleman's Gentleman by Lee Rowan is a Victorian Spy drama, and Hard & Fast from Erastes is Jane Austen on Viagra.

SiN will be available first as an ebook, and then 4-6 weeks later in a print edition you can grasp firmly with one hand.
So - here's some snippets from each, and I hope you enjoy them!

AFTERMATH by Charlie Cochrane

When shy Edward Easterby first sees the popular Hugo Lamont, he's both envious of the man's social skills and ashamed of finding him so attractive. But two awful secrets weigh Lamont down. One is that he fancies Easterby, at a time when the expression of such desires is strictly illegal. The second is that an earlier, disastrous encounter with a young gigolo has left him unwilling to enter into a relationship with anyone. Hugo feels torn apart by the conflict between what he wants and what he feels is "right". Will Edward find that time and patience are enough to change Hugo's mind?

"Hugo!" Easterby's deep voice split the still sharp air of the April evening. Lamont didn't turn, nor was he steering a course for his own rooms. Edward kept up a pursuit, eventually abandoning words and grabbing his friend's arm. "Hugo, I only asked you to come and take a glass with me. Can't we do that, like any two civilized human beings?"

Lamont turned, hot tears welling in his eyes. "But we're not civilized human beings, are we? I told you before that a lost legion of temptations lies in your room and I haven't the armor to fight any of them. Don't tempt me, Edward. Please."

Easterby looked stunned. "I never meant to tempt you. I…"

Hugo laid a hand on his friend's arm, equally quickly removed it. "I know, you're innocence itself, honestly. But can't you see that I'm burning?"

"But your letters…I thought that you were perhaps warming to the thought of being close friends. There was so very much affection in each line. Or so I thought. Perhaps I simply imagined it all; wishful thinking on my part again." Edward turned away, gulping as though swallowed pride had stuck in his craw.

"Letters were safe, Edward. It was easy to pour myself into them, and like a fool I succumbed to the temptation to do so. I could kiss your letters and not be tainted. Having the same feelings while being so close to you is agony." He reached out again, merely brushed the wool of Easterby's jacket and shook his head sadly.

"Will you meet me tomorrow, then?" Easterby's voice was full of defeat and sadness. "Not in my room if you can't bear it. At a café or in the bar. Anywhere. I need to talk to you." He raised his hand, let it stop within a hair's breadth of Lamont's face. "I've missed you so much."

Hugo nodded. He didn't dare say anything—his treacherous tongue would betray him. He gently grazed his own hand along Edward's, resisting clasping the fingers.


GENTLEMAN'S GENTLEMAN by Lee Rowan

Lord Robert Scoville has lived in a reasonably comfortable Victorian closet, without hope of real love, or any notion that it's right there in front of him if he would only open his eyes and take notice of his right-hand man, Jack Darling. Jack has done his best to be satisfied with the lesser intimacy of caring for the man he loves, but his feigned role as a below-stairs ladies' man leaves his heart empty. When a simple diplomatic errand turns dangerous and a man from their past raises unanswerable questions, both men find themselves endangered by the secrets between them. Can they untangle the web of misunderstanding before an unknown attacker parts them forever?

Jack said nothing. He didn't dare. The truth was stirring in him like a living thing, but he simply did not know what to say. No, he wasn't mistaken. I would love to have you take advantage of me! That would hardly do. In fact, he was grateful for his lordship's integrity. How wretched it would have been to serve under an officer who expected sexual favors, if the attraction were not mutual.

But was it mutual? Jack could not deny what he himself felt. And hope stirred again, a tenuous thread of possibility. A man who would not take advantage might be exercising self-restraint, not indifference. Did he dare speak?

Lord Robert was still fuming, oblivious to Jack's dilemma. "He must have thought me absurdly naïve. I suppose I was. It had never occurred to me that anyone would stoop so low as to make such an assumption about me. Or about you!" He looked up, his eyes full of some unspoken emotion. Anger? Guilt? "My dear fellow, I am deeply sorry. You must believe I never intended to subject you to anything like that. I can't do a damned thing about my own nature, and I'm grateful beyond words for your tolerance. I had no idea you would be offered such an insult."

"Insult, my lord?" Jack's chest felt tight, and his heart was suddenly pounding. Here it was, then—the chance of fulfillment or the destruction of all he had come to know.

"That you were my—that I would—" Lord Robert flung a hand into the air, helplessly.

"The only insult Captain McDonald offered," Jack said carefully, "was the assumption that I would be willing to lie with him."

It was Lord Robert's turn to hesitate. "I'm not certain I understand."

Their eyes met once more, and Jack could not look away. "He was not mistaken about my nature." And, since at this point there could be no going back, he added, "Nor my feelings for you."

HARD AND FAST by Erastes
Major Geoffrey Chaloner has returned, relatively unscathed, from the Napoleonic War, and England is at peace for the first time in years. Unable to set up his own establishment, he is forced to live with his irascible father who has very clear views on just about everything—including exactly whom Geoffrey will marry and why. The trouble is that Geoffrey isn't particularly keen on the idea, and even less so when he meets Adam Heyward, the enigmatic cousin of the lady his father has picked out for him... As Geoffrey says himself: "I have never been taught what I should do if I fell in love with someone of a sex that was not, as I expected it would be, opposite to my own."


I sat up, dazed, with the terrible realization of how much my life had just changed. He was smiling, just a little. He lay there, looking so delightfully debauched, his lips swollen from my mouth’s assaults, his eyes huge and so dark as to be almost black, that my heart twisted with emotion for him. He reached down and took my hand, still resting on his thighs, caught it in his hand and brought it up to his mouth. With slow, deliberate movements of his tongue, he licked my fingers clean, then turned my hand over and kissed my palm, his eyes closing as he did. It was such a simple and heartfelt declaration of love without words that I was unable to do anything but swallow hard.

Our situation and the danger of it came to us both as the madness receded. We had already been too long closeted together; we could not afford much more time. But our preparations to appear to the others of the house and his gradual re-dressing were delayed again and again by tenderness and kisses as he came to me, again and again.

“One more,” he said, pushing himself against the door and myself. “For I’ll have to live on this moment for who knows how long.” I too, saw the future stretching away from me with nothing more than circumspect glances, unendurable social contact and nights spent lonely, hard and longing.

How my life had reversed in so short a time. From being determined to grant him no quarter, to stand against him in every endeavor, now I was his to command. Just a pressure behind my neck brought my lips down to his; the smallest of his touches had tamed me, just as I fooled myself that I had mastered his recalcitrant nature. I brushed the back of his hair with my fingers, curling it where it had been flattened, and I wanted to say how my heart felt but he had confounded me—as ever.

I tried, knowing that something was needed of me. We could not open that door and resume our lives without some declaration of our intent. And yet, I thought—rational in spite of the glow of new found love—what intents could there be? This madness could never happen again, not in his aunt’s house, and would, inevitably sink to degradation, hidden away in the class of houses that such...tastes were enjoyed, becoming as vile as it was rumored.

I was not sure we had escaped scandal as it was, but to repeat the experience (although every inch of my body wanted to repeat and repeat and repeat) would be insanity of immense proportions.

“Heyward...”

His eyes hooded in a sensuous manner and he leaned against me, his hands almost kneading my chest, like a cat does. “I think, my dear Geoffrey, that now perhaps we might be a little more intimate than that? At least in private.”

"Dashing spies, bold Regency bucks, and the flower of English manhood vie for readers' attention in this smart, original and engaging trilogy.This is not your mother's historical romance!"

I hope you'll give it a try, please leave a comment to win a copy in print or ebook, whichever you'd prefer. All three authors will be on hand during the day to answer any questions you have, or perhaps share further snippets!

Erastes
(and in spirit, Lee Rowan and Charlie Cochrane)

Ok – that’s not a particularly sexy title. I admit it. But it is a valid point when one writes historical fiction. Writing bed-scenes when your writhing couple didn’t own a bath or shower and wouldn't do for several hundred years could be a turn-off for the reader.