Well, the writing is obviously on the wall
While I’ve been wasting my time writing smouldering man-on-man (-on-man) stories with fantasy or SF twists, I obviously should have been following Andrew Shaffer’s advice to search for something that no one is having relations with (although I object to his inclusion of a centaur in Step One, especially since Chiron will be getting it on in Olympic Cove Book Six — but I digress), then write erotica about it.
But Christie Sims and Alara Branwen have beaten me to the dinosaur erotica, damn their eyes. So after much thought, I have decided to write igneous rock erotica. My first masterpiece is entitled “Basalt Desires,” and I have included the opening lines below for your enjoyment. No, don’t thank me — I live to serve.
Geologist Aurora Bates threw her long brunette hair over her shapely shoulders as she stomped away from the hotel where the American Geological Union’s annual shindig was being thrown. Her ass ached from all the improper pinching she’d received from her male “colleagues,” and the fact that she was marching furiously into twilit rocky desert in naught but a fetching wraparound dress and four inch Louboutins didn’t dawn on her until one slender stiletto heel caught in a rock crack and snapped loudly, pitching her forward.
“Oh, crickets!” she shouted as she fell, fully expecting to go curvacious ass over lush breasts into one of the rock-choked gullies. But suddenly she stopped, as if two arms had suddenly burst from the ground and halted her fall.
She looked down, and flushed. Two arms had suddenly burst from the ground and halted her fall. Hello, carbon based lifeform, a deep, rough voice rumbled in her head. The voice sounded remarkably like a certain actor she had a crush on, and she could feel her womanly cleft grow moist at the sound. We don’t get many of your type out here at night. It’s not really safe for soft things like you.
“Oh, really?” Aurora sniffed, unwilling to be dissed by what appeared to be a pair of disembodied basalt limbs. “Well, I’ll have you know that I’m an independent woman and a geologist, and I can go wherever I like, Mister…”
Call me Ignis. Or Master, if you prefer. The arms suddenly wrapped around her, tugging her down. She tried to scream but choked as the ground crumbled beneath her, tumbling her into a pitch-black hole in the earth…