Tag Archives: anthology

I’ll think of it as a mixtape, shall I?

Younger readers are, of course, excused for not knowing what the old bat’s on about this time.  Thing is, I do have one particular clear memory from nearly 40 years ago, of sitting in the garden of a hotel somewhere in Wales with pen and paper, absolutely labouring over the order in which I was going to record the various songs I was currently obsessed with onto a C60 cassette when the holiday was over. I gave all my compilation tapes titles, and drew cover illustrations for them, and all sorts.


It’s on my mind a bit just now as I am similarly labouring, and obsessed, about the order in which to place the stories in the Who Thrilled Cock Robin anthology. I have eight fabulous stories, all inspired by or based on different folk songs.  (Well, to be brutally honest, I have seven and a half as I have not finished my own – or at least my Other Self’s – contribution yet). They are gloriously diverse in theme, pairings and tone and I am desperately trying to get the order just right, like any band struggling over the tracklisting of their latest album. Even though I am fairly well aware that many a reader will look at the contents page and and decide to read the contribution of his/her favourite author first, no matter whereabouts it comes in the sequence. I’m trying not to find that prospect as infuriating as I suspect bands do when their sweated-over sequence is randomly overruled by the shuffle function on someone’s iPod. I am now on about the 40th arrangement of story titles and therefore not fully responsible for my actions.

Actually, perhaps the way to make the final selection is to play all the songs the authors picked, and structure the contents page as though it were the cardboard sleeve of a mixtape…


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Happy New Year: Reasons To Be Cheerful?

It’s taken me till now to recover from the New Year party I went to, OK?

Very few people are immune to the idea of a new year’s new start; self-improvement; change and all the rest of it. I have no fondness for self-denial, so chose, decades ago, never to indulge in resolutions that involve giving stuff up and boring on about my new purity. The sort of good intentions I prefer are ones that are going to be enjoyable, such as writing loads more and getting it all out there. Whether or not I go back and dream up further adventures for my mucky Morris dancers remains to be seen, but the next major project is going be an anthology of stories, mostly by other people, with a folk-music theme.


Naturally, all those of you reading this are more than welcome to check out the submission guidelines and send me something.

I’m also hoping to do bigger and better things with Dirty Sexy Words: the next one will be happening at the end of February (yes, just after That Film comes out.) Whether the film release will boost the erotic fiction market the way the book did remains to be seen. Times are hard all round, in the world of erotica as much as anywhere else, but perhaps another resurgence is on the way.

And let’s not forget that this summer might actually see us collectively getting rid of the dish-faced loon and his gang of public school psychos, which should bring about a few more improvements.

Happy New Year.

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Recommended Reading: Sapphic Smut

If you’re bord with bastard billionaires or just fancy a change from heterosexual romance, check out the new Smutters anthology, full of girls together outrageously (yes, I am old enough to remember Miss Pamela and co). It contains one of my stories, as well.


Light hearted, sexy Sapphic smut is the theme of this erotic anthology, edited by Lucy Felthouse with assistance from Kev ‘Mitnik’ Blisse.

From coffee shops to exotic Indian adventures to cosy cabins in France, Sapphic Smut has it all. Fun with sugar, naughty spankings, seductions by strangers, seductions by friends, cougars and even a twist on a fairy tale abound in this exciting collection of lesbian stories from erotica’s finest authors.

This delicious girl-on-girl anthology contains stories from Lucy Felthouse, Kay Jaybee, Louisa Bacio, Sallyanne Rogers, Vanessa de Sade, Tabitha Rayne and Elizabeth Coldwell.

Amazon: http://mybook.to/sapphicsmut

Other links: http://lucyfelthouse.co.uk/published-works/sapphic-smut/

Editor’s Facebook page: http://www.facebook.com/lucyfelthousewriter


Alana really couldn’t believe how flat Holland was. She’d been told by many people, but somehow, she still wasn’t expecting a place that made Cambridgeshire look like the Peak District. Her view from the train as she travelled from Schiphol airport to Amsterdam’s Centraal Station was unimpeded. Not so much as a hillock was visible.

And now, here she was, standing outside the station with crowds milling around her. A mixture of tourists, businesspeople and natives. She herself was a combination of two of those groups—she was here on business, but she’d deliberately extended her trip so she could spend a couple of days exploring the city. She had a day either side of her meeting, the boring part a filling to a sightseeing sandwich. Though, despite the boring tag, the meeting definitely wasn’t a bad thing, it was an appointment to cross the ts and dot the is on a very lucrative deal—certainly the trip was worthwhile.

After watching the insanity for another minute or so, she began to head away from the station, wheeling her small case along with her. Already armed with a guidebook and a decent map, she knew where she was going. Her map-reading skills were excellent, and she made the short walk to her hotel in less than twenty minutes. Anywhere else, she’d have gotten a cab, but it appeared they were a rare commodity in this city.

She’d checked in, dumped her bags and freshened up within another ten minutes, and was back on the street.

An online acquaintance had sent her a bunch of information for her trip—about the best museums, interesting things to see that might not be in guidebooks, and details on transport. It appeared that Amsterdam was unlike London, Paris and Rome, in as much as it had trams as its preferred mode of transport, rather than underground trains. Only one Metro line ran through the city, north-to-south. Everywhere else was utterly dependent on trams, bikes and being on foot.

And fuck, there were a lot of bikes. They zipped here, there and everywhere, not always staying where they were supposed to be, it seemed. The slim Dutch people atop the bikes were oblivious, just concentrating on getting where they were going.

Alana searched for the nearest tram stop, and quickly discovered she needed to be on the other side of the road to head in the right direction.

Crossing the road was a chore in itself. A dice with death. She’d thought Rome’s motorists were insane, but at least they were fairly predictable. Here, she was faced with crossing a road that held a cycle path, a tram line and a lane for cars. Shifting down the pavement, she stood at the conveniently placed crossing. It still didn’t make things much easier, but at least she could mingle in with the crowd. Traffic was much more likely to stop if it was going to hit a crowd of people than a single pedestrian. Right?

By some miracle, she reached the opposite pavement unscathed—except for her nerves, which were shot—and approached the tram stop. As if by magic, a tram arrived, and it was the correct number. Things were looking up.

After a few minutes, she realised that public transport in Amsterdam was nowhere near as easy to navigate as in the other major cities she was familiar with. There, their Tube or Metro stations always had plenty of large, unmissable signs telling you where you were. Piccadilly Circus, Anvers, Piramide. Here, it seemed you were left to your own devices. There were announcements on board the tram, but they were in Dutch—a language which she knew very little of—incredibly muffled, and pretty much drowned out by the sound of the tram’s motion and its passengers.

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Recommended Reading: 50 Shades… of Green!

Don’t panic! Come back! This is nothing whatsoever to do with reworked crap TwiShite fanfic. Instead, it’s a pretty good anthology of stories on the theme of sex’n’gardening, and I’m very happy to be a stop on this book’s blog tour.


Over to Sandra Knauf…

How Fifty Shades of Grey Inspired Fifty Shades of Green


Let me say right off that I’m an admirer of E. L. James, the author of Fifty Shades of Grey. Any woman who makes it big in publishing, or any artistic endeavor, or any business for that matter, is worthy of admiration just for that. Further, I’ve seen her interviews. She seems cool! She seems fun. I like her. I feel we could hang out together.

But I didn’t “get” her book.

While I’m all about different strokes for different folks, there are some of us who find the whole dark/damaged/domineering prince thing worrisome. I’m one of them. That’s not our fantasy. We don’t want to be a “submissive.” We know our love alone won’t heal the wounded (the wounded have to want to do their own work). And, damn it, we don’t think it’s sexy to be told what underwear to wear. We’re grown women, for goodness sake! Equality—in the board room, in government, and in the bedroom. That’s how we get off.

So that’s why I scratched my head and squirmed in a not-good-way when I read some parts of James’ book. Women like this? I thought. Why?

The idea for Fifty Shades of Green started off as a joke. I wanted to turn the other Fifty Shades on its head, make the female the warped billionairess who was hot to spank, tie up, and control her virginal, less-monied, less-successful-in-every-way boyfriend. Since I’m a gardening freak and an environmentalist, I imagined her as a leader of some industry that was saving the planet—maybe solar power or green housing or electric cars. (She’d drive a Tesla.) She’d have a magnificent garden. A sexy outdoor paradise. It would be full of gorgeous flowers and vines and places to swim naked and secluded spots for BDSM sex . . .

The boyfriend would be made to do gardening work in the nude. Weeding for hours on his hands and knees . . . choosing a switch from a favorite flowering shrub for a lashing . . .

Friends thought the idea was hilarious, so I knew I was on to something. But I thought: did I just want to turn the tables? Changing genders would still keep it a pretty one-dimensional, predictable story.

Then I thought, what about a collection of naughty gardening stories? Not just one woman who takes charge of her life and sexuality, but many! It would not be limited to BDSM or even to male/female relationships.

I sent out a call for submissions and the dirty stories poured in. They came from all over the United States and a half-dozen other countries. The most talented writers’ imaginations were revealed in stories of off-the-charts deliciousness. A book was born.

I hope you’ll check out a sample, or, better yet, buy a copy of Fifty Shades of Green for yourself or for all your gardening friends. We think it’s fun, imaginative, and very, very sexy. And it might even inspire you to garden.

—Sandra Knauf



Excerpt from Fifty Shades of Green, “The Pulse of the Earth”


As the publisher, and the one who chose all of the stories in Fifty Shades of Green, I adore them all. However, the story of the priest/healer and the injured trader by Evey Brett, has a very special place in my heart. –SK

Andreas gritted his teeth. Cleaning the burns was painful, and now that his skin was healing the process was agonizing. “I don’t suppose you have more of that tea.”

“It’s too addictive; we can’t use much. I would be a poor healer to fix one problem only to leave another in its place.”

Andreas supposed that was true, but it didn’t make it any more bearable. He bore it as long as he could before begging Brother Jacinto to give him a break. The priest did, but all too soon started again.

By the time it was over, Andreas was breathing hard and covered in sweat. He bit his tongue to keep from screaming and swearing inside a house of worship. Brother Jacinto sliced the pad of a prickly pear cactus and laid the insides against the burns. The juice cooled the worst of the pain.

Brother Jacinto cleaned up his supplies with the same finesse as he doled them out. “Your burns are healing well. The discomfort should ease in another day or two.”

In a way, the good news disappointed him. The faster he recovered, the sooner he would have to leave. His heart ached at the thought of never seeing Brother Jacinto again.

“I expect you’d like a bath.”

His gut tightened at the thought of just how he was going to receive that bath, but he was tired of feeling filthy. “Yes.”

Brother Jacinto pulled back the sheet, dipped the sponge in the water and began. Whether it was because he couldn’t see or because Andreas was attracted to him, the gentle touch roused a response he’d be better off forgetting.

The water was cool as it sluiced over skin sticky and salty from sweat. Andreas fixed his gaze on Brother Jacinto, amazed at the placidity in his face as he worked. Yet, he was disappointed. It wasn’t right to expect anything from a priest he barely knew. Brother Jacinto had probably taken some vow or another to remain chaste. It wasn’t possible to have any sort of relationship, but that didn’t mean Andreas couldn’t fantasize about one.

He had no control over his body’s reaction when Brother Jacinto sponged between his legs. His cock was as stiff as a rod and utterly appreciative as the priest ran the sponge from base to tip and back down, tucking into the crevices around and beneath Andreas’s balls. Andreas closed his eyes, glad Brother Jacinto couldn’t see the heated embarrassment that must be creeping over his face.

The pressure in his lower body built to an unbearable level. Andreas breathed deeply, trying to still the tide of desire flooding him, but failed. Climax struck hard and fast. Spasms clutched his cock as he spilled himself over Brother Jacinto’s hands. Andreas groaned, half out of relief, half in shame from the inability to control himself.

Yet, despite the mess, Brother Jacinto’s face didn’t change. He continued to sponge Andreas clean with no apparent disgust or disapproval, and too soon, Andreas was washed and covered. “Thank you,” Andreas said. It wasn’t enough for everything the priest had done, but it was all he had to offer.

—Evey Brett


Blurb and buy links


Fifty Shades of Green is a garden of naughty delights!
Within our pages you’ll discover:
– Virile gods and their mortal conquests.
– A community garden’s secret (and very dirty) fertility ritual.
– An Edwardian dominatrix living out her sadistic garden fantasies.
– Student/teacher lessons in horticultural hotness.
– Young lovers seeking the help of green witches.
– A beautiful, blind priest who helps an injured traveler.
. . . and so much more.

Peek inside the garden gate.

(You know you want to.)

A dozen racy tales await.

Fifty Shades of Green is a collection of twelve delicious and erotic short stories with gardening themes. What you’ll find in these pages is hotter than the hottest pepper on the Scoville index of heat! And smart, not smutty. Well . . . maybe a little smutty.

To Buy Fifty Shades of Green (it’s on sale, just for you):


Amazon.com UK

Amazon.com US


Author Bios and Links


Sandra Knauf has been a featured “Colorado Voices” columnist for The Denver Post and her humorous essays have appeared nationally in GreenPrints, an Utne Reader award-nominated garden writing journal. She has also been a guest commentator on KRCC’s (a NPR affiliate station) “Western Skies” radio show. In addition to Fifty Shades of Green, her publishing company has published six volumes of the garden writing journal Greenwoman, a young adult fantasy/sci-fi novel, Zera and the Green Man, and other works.

Sandra Knauf’s Greenwoman Publishing website

Sandra Knauf’s Flora’s Forum blog

Evey Brett, the author of “The Pulse of the Earth,” has numerous sci-fi/fantasy and paranormal romance e-books published with Loose Id, Ellora’s Cave and Carina Press. She also has fantasy and erotica stories forthcoming with Lethe and Cleis Press.

Evey Brett’s website

FREE Sample Stories!

To sample two free stories from Fifty Shades of Green visit our Garden Shorts website.

If you sign up for our newsletter you will be sent “Seed” (our sexy story about a community garden’s secret fertility ritual).

To read “Phallus Impudicus,” (a tale about the horny god Pan’s visit with a lonely gardener) just click on the Fifty Shades SAMPLE! tab


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A Valentine Treat

Out for your e-reader now, and soon to be out in paperback, so you can give a copy to someone else if you’re so inclined. Flowers can make people sneeze, which is a bit of a niche fetish, and chocolates, though delicious, aren’t for everyone. It’s hard to go wrong with a good book – well, except if you’re going wrong in an entertaining way with inspiration from a good book…

Yup, it’s a blatant plug as I have a story in the collection: my debut with House Of Erotica, who seem to have a fascinating range of titles on the go.

Here’s what the cover looks like.




And I invite you all to warm your cockles with a bit of romantic filth. I’m just going to haul myself over to Amazon and challenge my technical inabilities even further by building myself an author page on there, as well.

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January 25, 2014 · 2:11 pm