Le Jeudi Frotteurible: Benjamin Millepied

As requested by my charming Twitter pal @EdieHarris, I present for your Thursday thrustening, foxy French (I know, I know, they're always French on here, aren't they?) ballet dancer and choreographer and actor (and probably most infamously, Natalie Portman's baby-daddy) Benjamin Millepied. He's got thighs like unh.

Six Sentence Sunday #10

Greetings again, my sixy beasties! And happy All Hallows Eve's Eve to you all. We take Halloween wicked serious here in Salem, Massachusetts (aka Spookytown, USA) so I was thinking I ought to source a Halloween-themed six this week. Well, it turns out I've only written a single story thus far that references the holiday (don't give me that look, Ruthie Knox—the weird-ass WIP doesn't count yet), so you're stuck with this little excerpt from my 2010 Golden Heart finalist book (since published by Samhain) The Reluctant Nude:

Oh hai, Romain Duris! That's a very convincing

glare, but you're still in a tight race with 

Olivier Sitruk and Melvil Poupaud to play

Max when the book is inevitably [cough

cough, delusional] made into a motion picture.

Sex—sex sex sex.

That was all Fallon could focus on or remember in the following two weeks. Somewhere in her periphery a statue was taking shape, meals were being cooked and eaten, a yellow and black scarf was growing longer and longer between her fingers. Sun was shining or wind was howling or the moon was rising or falling. Beach grass and birch trees were changing color, she suspected, but the only thing she was aware of was Max: sitting beside her, standing across the studio from her, lying beneath her back in a bathtub by the fire, buried deep inside her body in his bed once the sun went down.

Addict, she thought to herself accusingly, watching him from across a display of pumpkins in the co-op market one afternoon, three days before Halloween…

Thanks for swinging by, ghouls and boys! Now head here to check out all the other Six Sentence Sunday excerpts this week. Happy Halloween!

—Meg

Thrusty Thursday: the 2011 All Blacks

In case you missed the memo, I love two things above just about all else: New Zealand, and sweaty, bruised men. So imagine how my heart and loins collided when the All Blacks made it to the 2011 Rugby World Cup final! During the last World Cup in 2007, I nearly wept in the bar when France beat New Zealand in the quarter final. Well, this past Sunday, the All Blacks got their revenge and beat France (in a nail-bitingly, heart-attack-inducingly close, low-scoring game) to take the cup home. [Could it be because France didn't have their gigantic, semi-feral caveman, Sébastien Chabal this year?] Though they didn't have to take it far, since Auckland was hosting. Bonus.

Nice knee bruises, Kieran Read. May I ice those for you?

Now if you're a lady-pervert like me and you've never watched rugby, you are cheating yourself. No sports enthusiasm or rule-appreciation required. Short-shorts, basically no padding, brutish acts of manfulness just like, constantly. Unh. Anyhow, here's some more Kiwi thrust-fodder:

Oh and look, a shot of foxy flanker Kieran Read signing a young fan's jersey. How'd that get in there?

Six Sentence Sunday #7

Greetings, sixers! As promised, another excerpt from my evil twin Cara's upcoming romantica release, Curio (out this Wednesday), aka "the Parisian man-whore book".

I slid my hand back to feel his damp hair, the heat of his neck. He cocked his head, the kiss still closed-mouth but promising more, soon.

I let myself imagine the acts he’d mentioned doing with others, and though they’d thrilled me before, now I couldn’t picture such things. In this moment he was my cautious first date, my maybe-a-boyfriend. He was no other woman’s, and he’d never kissed any girl and made her feel this way before. His body was far from innocent, but I fantasized that his heart was as untouched and virginal as mine.

Thanks for stopping by! Now head here to check out all the other Six Sentence Sunday excerpts this week.

Six Sentence Sunday #6

Greetings, sixers! This week and next I thought I'd share excerpts from my evil twin Cara's September 28 romantica release, Curio. Possibly better known as "the Parisian man-whore book". The virgin heroine has just admitted to the male prostitute hero the extent of her inexperience…

And it was in that moment in Didier’s living room that I realized, maybe not tonight, but some day not too far off, I could leave this place with that weight lifted from me. I could walk down his street and be like everyone else. I could have a lover. This is Paris, after all—having a lover is like having a pancreas, and I was suddenly very ready to quit being a medical anomaly.

All Didier said to my pronouncement was, “That is very interesting,” then he paused and squinted in such a way that it seemed he were taking a drag off a psychic cigarette. I worried he was about to tell me he had a policy against deflowering his clients, but he merely added, “It’s very flattering that you’ve come to me.”

Thanks for stopping by! Now head here to check out all the other Six Sentence Sunday excerpts this week.

Le Jeudi Frotteurible: Melvil Poupaud

My evil twin is awobble about the upcoming release of her man-whore book, so let's go French again this Thursday! Though the story is really just her typed-up perv-o fantasy about sleeping with a broody, Parisian version of David Gandy, I found an authentically French fox to exploit this week—actor Melvil Poupaud. Let's mantage!

And here, watch him speak French! To spare my fellow English-speakers the banality of knowing what he's saying (because who cares, really?) I found a clip with Spanish subtitles. And incidentally, he kisses guys in this movie, if that's your thing. Très uhn!

Six Sentence Sunday #2

Six sentences from my evil conjoined erotica-writing twin Cara McKenna's latest sale, Curio, a.k.a. the Parisien man-whore story (out in early autumn):

Didier Pedra is the name of a male prostitute who lives at sixteen Rue des Toits Rouges, in Paris.

It’s a relatively quiet street amid the greater bustle of the Latin Quarter, his flat in the top floor of a long tenement, two blocks from the river. I never expected to find myself standing on the front stoop of a prostitute’s building in the rain, on what should have been another unremarkable Thursday evening in March.

Then again, I never expected to be five weeks from my thirtieth birthday with my hymen still intact.

As I stood on Didier Pedra’s front stoop—precisely six minutes early for my appointment and unwilling to go in, lest I appear too eager—I knew only a few things about him; that he’s in his early to mid-thirties, that he’s always lived in Paris, and that he has a reputation for being supremely good in bed.

As if I have any basis for comparison.

Thanks for stopping by! Head here to check out all the other Six Sentence Sunday excerpts this week.

New Sale!

Hey all, just wanted to share some good news my evil conjoined erotica-writing twin received yesterday—the so-called Parisien man-whore story has sold! Ellora's Cave offered me my eleventh contract with them, and I accepted. The official title is to-be-determined. It's working title has been Sixteen Rue des Toits Rouges, and I wasn't too shocked when it got nixed; bit tough to remember / spell / pronounce. I've got a nice list of alternatives to send off to my benevolent editor today.

[Addendum: This just in, the book now has an official title—Curio.]

Big thanks go to Amy, Ruthie, and Liz for beta reading and French translation assistance. Merci beaucoup, mes amies.

Just from randomly tweeting about the story during the writing process, I've been pleased by how enthusiastic some people are about the themes, both the male prostitute factor and the pushing-thirty virgin heroine. Fingers crossed they'll enjoy the book when it eventually comes out (should be a quick turnaround, probably out in the early fall). I'll be sure to post a tiny excerpt from it for this weekend's Six Sentence Sunday.

If the chores of the day permit (or rather, my tackling thereof permits), I'll probably be tweeting with a champagne buzz late this afternoon, so look forward to that. Enjoy your Fridays!

Le Jeudi Frotteurible: Romain Duris

Not only is it Thrusty Thursday, it's also Bastille Day! And since I'm starting to earn a reputation for exploiting France's considerable male fox population in this feature, I'd be remiss to not source yet another homme thrustable for you all this fine holiday. And so without further ado, actor Romain Duris!

Thrusty Thursday: Eric Monjoin

If you like this week's thrustee, thank my real-life pal, romance novel enthusiast, and sometimes French language copy editor, @drpuma. Please join her in thrusting against French model/actor (another Jeudi Frotteurible! Sacré bleu!) Eric Monjoin, aka that dude from the elaborate Heineken ad. Now, let's man-tage!

Okay kids, this clip is an advertisement for alcohol, so don't hit play unless you're of legal age in your country, lest it compromise your morals.

Le Jeudi Frotteurible: Olivier Sitruk

Another French edition of Thrusty Thursday! The first such occasion was inspired by my viewing of District B13, then there was my tribute to Parisian hairstylist Christian Marc, and this time it's in honor of my upcoming Samhain debut, The Reluctant Nude, which features a French hero. It's out on Tuesday, nudge nudge nudge. Okay, enough self-whoring. On to the thrustin'!

I know nothing about Olivier Sitruk other than a) you can find him by Googling "French actor" and b) he's a fox. Un vraiment grand renard. Oh and c) I suspect my insatiable beard-enthusiast friends will be pleased. Instead of boring you by rehashing his Wikipedia entry (like usual) here's a big old pensive collage I made, junior high-style! If you get understandably juiced by his obvious foxxitude and want to see what he's in, here's his IMDb link. Otherwise, bon appetit!