Showing posts with label fantasy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fantasy. Show all posts

Monday, September 29, 2008

Fun Loving Criminals: Mad, Bad and Delicious to Know!



Bad Boys, Bad Boys, what you gonna do? What you gonna do when they come for you?

(Well, if you don’t know by now, I’m sure there’s a few good books on this site with suggestions..)

In coming up with the characters for Southern Spirits, specifically the two bad guys – the charismatic con man Jack Wheeler and the laconic, possessive gangster Mickey Whisper – I started looking for inspiration in the bad guys I’d read and watched, the ones that got me and others hot, and why it was so.

I mean, we all know that in just about every good story, the villain is more interesting than the hero, more interesting to watch, to read about, and certainly to write about (and any attempt to make the hero more interesting usually involved imbuing his background or character with dark elements). After all, to look clever and paraphrase Tolstoy, good guys are all alike; every bad guy is bad in his own way (which sounds much better than anything Chekov ever came up with, except in those episodes with the Klingons).

But of course for Lust Biters, being an interesting villain isn’t enough. I mean, Darth Vader may top every fanboy’s Villains List, but in terms of sex appeal, a wheezy guy who takes longer to undress than you, and ends up looking like a skinless chicken constantly distracted by disturbances in the Force, can stay a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away.


No, we want sexy villains, clit-throbbingly sexy bastards whom we’d bed as much as the heroes, if not more so! The guys you’d root for over the bland heroes - and whom you’d want to get a good rooting from. The guys with the black hats, the minions, the schemes and soliloquies about their ambitions, not like those good guys who were so squeaky clean they’d slip on sandpaper.

Let’s face it, the best men are often the worst ones!


But why is it so? In Olivia Knight’s excellent Crush Wednesday post a few weeks back, she put it best when she wrote, “It’s [explaining the appeal of wet men] like explaining the appeal of breasts to.. who doesn’t get breasts?” Well, I feel the same way about Sexy Bad Guys. But, just as Olivia valiantly strove to give us examples and possible reasons, I will endeavour to do the same.

As my list of Sexy Bad Guys, the Best in Show as well as in the sack, grew, I began putting them together in groups, until it became a sort of Villains Periodic Table, with common characteristics running through all of them.


One primary element they had was Charm, with a Capital Ch. Suave, debonair, classy, these are men whose idea of a night out with a lady doesn’t include lagers at the pub, a kebab and a fumble in the taxi. No, these men prefer Paris, a bottle of Dom Perignon ’53 (or the ’71, if one must slum it), and a Tiffany’s necklace to keep you warm as he slips you out of your gown and takes you from behind on the balcony of the penthouse suite.

These are the gentlemen Rogues: Raffles the thief (as played by the likes of Ronald Coleman and David Niven), James Mason’s highwayman in The Wicked Lady, Stewart Granger’s smuggler in Moonfleet, Steve McQueen’s (and Pierce Brosnan’s) millionaire crook in the Thomas Crown Affair, and Cary Grant’s retired cat burglar in To Catch a Thief.

These are men who keep one foot in polite society (who turn a blind eye to their activities) and the other on the ledge outside your bedroom window, men who would wine you, dine you and sixty-nine you – and leaving you not caring when you later find out they’d made off with your furs and jewellery.


Though most of these men seem consigned to the classic films, one modern example who made my mouth water was Rene Belloq, the amoral French archaeologist from Raiders of the Lost Ark, willing to work with the Nazis to achieve his goals (boo hiss!) but still a gentleman, saving Indy’s girlfriend Marion – for himself. Of course, that didn’t stop him from watching via a mirror as she undressed, or leaving her tied up as he plied her with food and wine. Just thinking about an imaginary deleted scene to that, where things went further between them, warms the cockles of my, er, heart.


Another property that popped up was Authority, men who commanded men, leaders so confident that they didn’t have to look twice to see if orders were being followed, who operated as if concepts of good and evil were for lesser men – and you believed them. From Yul Brynner’s roles as Ramses and The King of Siam (oh, those moody glowers and that rich, moistening baritone voice of his!), to Arnold Vosloo's powerful, charismatic priest in the first two Mummy movies, to Max Von Sydow’s strutting his cosmic stuff as Ming the Merciless, all intergalactic decadence and ermine finery. Hmm, all bald characters. Something in there?


Apparently not, because my all-time favourite in this category is Alan Rickman’s Sheriff of Nottingham in Robin Hood Prince of Thieves. More cunning than a serpent, more ruthless than a dog with a pork chop, he looked hot, sounded hot, and did more for me than the fabulously average Kevin Costner could in this or any other of his movies. I wasn’t the only one in the cinema cheering him on as he forcibly married Maid Marian and tried to consummate the union before the hero broke through the door. He burned out the villagers, cancelled Christmas and tortured the stunningly annoying Christian Slater. Gorgeous, amoral – what’s not to lust after?


Another quality that came to light was Ruthlessness. These were not small-time crooks selling bootleg DVDs down your local, but big men with bigger ambitions, larger than life bad boys. Notable examples included Rickman’s breakout role as Hans Gruber in Die Hard, effortlessly masterful and cool, with a sharp sense of humour and sharper clothes; James Mason as Captain Nemo, dapper and lethal, who’ll take you places (whether you want to go or not) in style under the sea; Doctor Who’s nemesis The Master, one of many Nehru jacket-clad villains in this article, with a barely-concealed love of tying up the Doctor’s female companions; Schizoid Batman villain Two-Face (especially played as he was by the deeply delicious Tommy Lee Jones), if you kept on the right side of him. Literally. And if you didn’t mind threesomes, even if there was just the two of you in bed.

Oh, and pretty much any of the earlier Bond villains, so long as they come with a secret lair. They’ll shower you with gifts (these bad guys are always generous, albeit on their own terms), have his outlandish henchmen crush that asshole who cut you off in traffic that morning, and make sure you have the best suite in his volcano lair. Just don’t get caught swapping bodily fluids with any British secret agents, or you’ll end up feeding his exotic pets in a way you’d rather not.


But the Mack Daddy of this class of villain is Lex Luthor (another baldie!), a man of humble origins, whose self-styled reputation as the greatest criminal mastermind since Moriarty appeared well-justified, and lacking superpowers of his own, he nevertheless manages to repeatedly put the bitch slap on the Boy Scout from Krypton and nearly taking over the world. And Lois keeps getting captured by him, again and again. Don’t tell me she didn’t do it on purpose; she may not have been able to tell that Clark Kent was Superman, but she was no dummy. Sure, inevitably she went home with the deeply caring, deeply vanilla Superman – but later, while he was out rescuing kittens from trees, she had some Personal Time in bed recalling what Luthor had done to her while she was tied up in his hideout, waiting to be “rescued”.


At the extreme end of the spectrum are the Beasts, more hands-on characters like Hannibal Lector, Christian Bale’s American Psycho, and TV’s sardonic serial killing hero Dexter. Absolute madmen who have married high intelligence and charisma with a lethal ferocity and a twisted code of honour and chivalry. They could kill without batting an eyelash, and literally have you for dinner if you crossed them. But you wouldn’t, because you’d be the Beauty to these Beasts, possessed and possessor. Preferring the quiet life, they tend to lack the immense wealth and ambition of the others on this list – but they're like your own human Roittweiler. And they do tend to clean up after themselves…

So why do we pant after them? The thrills? The fear? The free goodies?

Maybe it’s because all these men who walk on the dark side can have anyone they desired – so, if they desire you, you can’t help but get an ego boost. So long as you don’t do the stupid thing and blurt out that you want them just as much as they want you. Attainability is the kiss of death for these guys – in some cases, quite literally. So by all means, resist all the way, so they can chain you up to have their wicked way with you – and free you from any responsibility.

So 'fess up girls, which bad guy do you want to tie you down and ravish you? Who do you want to be hanging at the side of while he threatens the hero? Whose lair do you want to mark as your own?

Hurry, before the hero shows up and spoils your good time!

Friday, July 18, 2008

Tale of a Tail...



I knew I had become a real writer, not when I was first published, but when I was first asked where my ideas came from (I knew I was a real erotic fiction writer when I was first asked if it was all based on ‘personal experience’, a joke whose sell-by date proved shorter than a carton of milk in July).

In this instance, when I was asked about The Pride, my first Black Lace book, the answer regarding personal experience was even less apropos (“Yes, the previous summer while in Turkey I ran into a race of catlike people with tails, and it was too good an idea to pass up”). But as to the idea itself, I had to name several sources of inspiration.

Firstly, I have to blame James Spader as the brilliant, sexy archaeologist in the Stargate movie, for re-awakening my interest in Egypt and ancient civilisations (I know, technically I should blame the filmmakers and not James himself, but I’d rather blame him for just about everything, if only so he’ll work that much harder to make it up to me if we ever meet...)

For me, Egypt symbolised Empire, more than the Romans, the Byzantines or any others. I loved the sense of majesty it possessed, of glory and power and authority, a civilisation conquering the inhospitable desert surrounding it, to forge a legacy lasting millennia. I loved the pyramids and temples and other megalithic structure, all built without the aid of electrical devices. I loved the exotic, melodic names of the people and places: Kemreit, Saqqara, Ankhesen. And I admired that Egypt possessed an open equality of the sexes, letting women rule, own property, run businesses and divorce, an equality that sadly would be lost with many successive civilisations.

But as I regained interest in the subject, I learned just how sanitised and asexual the image of Ancient Egypt and its people had been made to me, thanks to generations of prudish archaeologists, museum displays and sword-and-sandal epics (none of whom, hypocritically enough, seemed to mind going into loving detail about the wars, bloodshed and atrocities committed). Oh, smirks about Cleopatra’s activities with Caesar and Mark Antony may have circulated around the classrooms, but she was just the tip of an erotic iceberg (or pyramid).


The average ancient Egyptian was naked to a large extent, the heat and poverty limiting the clothing owned or required. They shaved their pubic hair, used sex aids made of polished wood and ivory, considered lettuce to be an aphrodisiac, and when they died, the men had false phalluses attached to their mummies, and women had false nipples, in order to continue to enjoy sex in the afterlife. Go prepared, I say...


Egyptian erotic papyri, with poetry and detailed drawings and descriptions of assorted positions, were valued throughout the known world (the Roman Emperor Tiberius was said to give his extensive collection a regular, er, "going over"); sadly, few examples remain, though you might still see some examples of erotic graffiti on tomb walls – if the guides let you in those areas...

Sex permeated their lives, from commoner to ruler, fertility being important in such a harsh environment. Furthermore, unlike modern society with its schizophrenic seesawing between stigmatising sex and wallowing in it, the ancient Egyptians accepted sex in all its forms, with an admirable openness. To them, the universe began with masturbation, when according to one ancient Pyramid text, “Atum-Ra took his phallus in his grasp that he might create orgasm by means of it, and so were born the twin gods Shu and Tefnut." From these came more gods, with many more tales of orgies, incest, drunken sex, homosexuality...

One goddess in particular intrigued me the most: Bastet, goddess protector of cats, a local deity who gained prominence for centuries, probably helped by the barges of drunken orgiasts who would travel each year to her ‘hometown’ of Bubastis. She represented the cats who had become the ancient Egyptians’ valued ally for their efforts at pest control in the granaries, a respect that grew into an unparalleled veneration (killing a cat was tantamount to murder, and cats would be mummified along with humans). Like many of the Egyptian gods and goddesses, Bastet was pictured either as a full cat, or as a human figure with a feline head.

And she epitomised the fascination that man has always had for cats, for their qualities: beauty, power, grace, savagery, sensuality, maternalism, ferocity – qualities equally applied to women. We all have some of the Cat in us. So it was inevitable that images combining cat and woman would appear, touching folklore and popular culture of werecats and witches' familiars through the centuries, up to the catgirls of Japanese manga and anime, and the comic book antihero Catwoman (just don’t get me started on the movie...)



I couldn’t get the image of a woman with a tail out of my mind. How would she think and feel? What would she do, what would turn her on? What would sex be like with her? The image of the feline woman started as a story, and then expanded into an entire race of people with cat-like qualities such as tails and claws, epitomised by a member, Kami, who would venture out into the human world to experience sexuality among them. And as it set in my head, more ideas began to attach themselves, especially as I began looking into other cultures such as the Mayans and South Africans and their legends, and read about the behaviour of domestic and wild felines.

Though as intelligent and articulate as ordinary humans, sex to the Pride (as I was now calling them) would be an instinctive matter, a need that was fed as it arose, like hunger or sleep. Their senses of smell and hearing would dominate, and would shape their preferences. Their prehensile tails would be another appendage, another erogenous zone. And as with real cats, sex for them could be both savage and gentle as the mood took them, and not just for the males. A related goddess to Bastet was Sekhmet, lioness-headed and truly bloodthirsty, letting loose with berserker furies that threatened even the other gods. If I ever write a sequel to The Pride, I might incorporate Sekhmet in some fashion.


A trip to Cappadocia, an isolated part of Turkey where underground warrens of tunnels carved out by natives from the volcanic rock millennia ago, gave me the Pride’s home, a distant but reachable part of the world to which they might have emigrated centuries before to escape persecution. And knowledge of the clothing, tools and given names of Ancient Egyptians fed me a natural inspiration for a people considered the children of one of their goddesses. And seeing the Mummy movie (with the gorgeous Oded Fehr as the dashing Bedouin Ardeth Bey) gave me the idea of a cult of humans who would know of the Pride, but would worship them as the Children of Bastet, and would protect their secrecy from the outside world.


Before I knew it, the story had grown like a bonsai on steroids (I’d liked to say the story wrote itself, but that would be a total lie. I ended up having to put down just about word of it myself, while it sat around eating my Haagen-Daaz and backseat driving). But it was written, it was published, and the rest, as they say...

I may never go back to writing more adventures of Kami and her people, but the potency of their images and appeal will remain with me...

So come on readers, what do you think? Would you like a tail? Do you let the Cat out at night?



Sunday, May 25, 2008

Coming Attractions

by Janine Ashbless


This gratuitous picture of Sean Bean as Boromir is dedicated to Teresa!

This week on Lust Bites:

On Monday we have a guest post from our friend t'Sade, who will be telling us all about the novel The Mummy's Girl, and what it's like to have a go at self-publishing a book that doesn't fit into the normal erotica niches.

On Tuesday Portia Da Costa will be marking the release of Gemini Heat and Gothic Heat in the US.

On Wednesday Olivia will be bringing us a guest post from hot femsub Nexus author Lauren Wissot.

And Friday is our monthly Smut Slot - featuring a scorching excerpt from one of our books. This month Lauren Dane will be steaming us up with a piece from her novella Stripped.

See you there!

xxx
Janine

Wednesday, May 21, 2008

Crush Wednesday: Fantasies about Fantasy

by Teresa Noelle Roberts

Long before puberty, I was enamoured with the brave men and fierce women who inhabit the worlds depicted in fantasy novels and movies. Brawny barbarians, elegant sorceresses, wily wizards, valiant knights, sardonic swordsmen and warrior women who quipped in the face of death? Elves, dwarves, hobbits, and other fascinating non-humans? I reveled in it all as an escape from life as a shy, bookish kid without a valiant bone in her clumsy body.

After puberty, my thoughts about my favorite fantasy heroes and heroines changed a bit. I didn’t just want to share their adventures. In some cases, I wanted to have adventures with them, if you know what I mean.

Take the Lord of the Rings series. Tolkien’s Eówyn was my first girl-crush, although I didn’t have words for it until many years after I first read the books. Miranda Otto’s beauty and gravitas reawakened that crush in the movies, and now I have words for it. And very explicit mental images.

Aragorn, with his heroism, his fateful destiny, and his seemingly doomed cross-species love, also got under my teenage skin. Why couldn’t he love a nice human girl, like Eówyn, or better yet, me? Thinking “Why not both of us, and I could take the middle? And Arwen could come play sometime when she wasn’t too busy being all otherworldly” was a little advanced for my teenage years, but once again the movie versions of the book reawakened old literary crushes in much more grown-up ways. Sandwiched between Viggo and Miranda—yum!

Oh, heck, bring on most of the Fellowship! Between the ones whose characters I love (Sam might be on the short and round side, but I have a feeling he’d be fun, even with that service-oriented d/s thing he has going with Frodo) and the ones who are pure sex on a stick (Boromir didn’t seem like crush material until I saw him played by Sean Bean, but for Sean, I’ll forgive a few tragic flaws. And consider Legolas—body of a buff college student, two thousand years of experience!) it could be quite a party.

Gratuitous Sean Bean as Boromir picture!

But I don’t confine my fantasy-fantasies to the Lord of the Rings. One of my early crushes was Robin Hood, and once I grew up a bit, I got all sorts of interesting ideas about “Merry Men”—some hotly homoerotic, some about what a lucky, lucky girl Marian was, alone in Sherwood Forest with all those men in tights. Leaving aside smutty thoughts (yes, I can do that sometimes), I love the Robin Hood legend to this day. I’ve enjoyed all the film incarnations I’ve seen, from Errol Flynn to Michael Praed, who was, in my opinion, the hottest Robin Hood ever. (And his Robin of Sherwood had Herne the Hunter in it, which moves it from historical fantasy into mythology, which is interesting even to me.) And the somewhat obscure 1991 Robin Hood featured the ever-intriguing Uma Thurman as a butt-kicking and fun Marian. (I haven’t seen the most recent BBC series yet, though. Netflix time!)

Heck, I even loved Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves because it’s Robin Hood, even though it was silly and Kevin Costner, while not unattractive, was entirely wrong for the part.

Of course, that might have had something to do with Alan Rickman’s Sheriff of Nottingham. Yummy, campy evil with a voice like silk: He can take me captive and do terrible things to me any time.

The Arthurian legends? Who hasn’t daydreamed at some point about being swept away to Camelot and all the hunks of the Round Table? As a young woman, I wept buckets—and fantasized copioiusly—about the tragic love triangle at the center of the legends. Lucky Guinevere to have two such amazing men as Arthur and Lancelot in her life, even if it ended horridly! Now, I get annoyed, thinking that before they tore a kingdom apart when they obviously all loved one another, they should have tried poly. Less tragic, and much sexier.

Barbarians? Those who’ve read Lady Sun Has Risen know one of my guilty pleasures is the dominant, underclad, totally politically incorrect barbarian hero. You wouldn’t want one around full-time, but the women they kidnap always end up looking bonelessly happy. It’s the sword-wielding and the alpha quality that gets to me, not the big muscles—Arnold Schwarzenagger didn’t appeal to me in any other roles, but as Conan? Whew! I have a huge weakness for barbarian movies, from The Scorpion King to the Conan epics to the really cheesy ones like Kull the Conqueror (both Kevin Sorbo and Tia Carrere are lovely creatures, whether they can act or not) and The Barbarians. I saw the latter with my gay best friend, both of us laughing our butts off and still getting kind of hot and bothered. It was in Spanish with no subtitles and you know what? It made absolutely no difference. The whole point was brawny, heroic alpha males wearing very little.

And finally, I’m putting in a picture just for Dayle. I never saw the TV fantasy spoof Wizards and Warriors, which came and went while I was in college in a place where TV reception was non-existent. Dayle has fond memories of the evil Prince Dirk Blackpool, though, and just because I love her…here’s a picture! Hey, he’s pretty sexy. Between him and several shady characters played by Alan Rickman, maybe we need to revisit the theme of Hot Evil…

Note: The Arthurian illustration is by Howard David Johnson and can be found here.