Let me preface my remarks about a “gay language” by introducing a couple of novels I’ve written recently. The first, HEART TO HART, has just been released by Amber Quill Press. The other, called SPARRING WITH SHADOWS, is the sequel which should be pubbed in a few months.

These books follow the escapades of a gay man, Michael McCree, and his reluctant partner Simon Hart. The two men, private investigators in 1923 Ireland, look into some very private affairs—yet none more private than their own.

In both novels, I have used a patois commonly spoken and understood by homosexuals at the time, the decade of the “Roaring Twenties,” and even hundreds of years before that. To me, the most interesting and even startling fact is that many of the words are in common usage today—by gays and straights alike—even if some of the meanings have shifted a little through the years.

Some say that straights have always been the last to understand their gay brethren, and their language is no different. As early as the 1600s in Britain and on the continent, a language called “Polari” sprang up among gays and was heard in open markets and street shows, on fairgrounds and in circuses, and especially in the British Merchant Navy. Based loosely on a variant of Italian called “Romany,” it incorporated such disparate elements as slang, circus and thieves’ cant; and later (during World War II) the language absorbed even Yiddish expressions.

The language was widespread, as common as the gay subculture that spread it. Then as now, gays were eager to distinguish themselves in their own community, and to hide their sexual preferences from a hostile society, by the use of a rich variety of words understood only by them.

Those familiar with Gypsies, Travelers and Pavees will find nothing new here!

In doing research for my novels, I found many expressions that were common not only in Britain and Europe in the 1920s, but also in Ireland, Scotland and American urban centers.

Many of the following words were “sneaked” under the noses of censors onto British television starting in the 1960s; and even though the 60s saw the decline of Polari, it has recently made a comeback on such shows as “Queer Eye for the Straight Guy” and in the mouths of contemporary comedians. Trust the sly Brits to be on top of things. Gives me a whole new appreciation for Monty Python and his Flying Circus. But I digress . . .

In 2002, two books on the subject were published, both written by Paul Baker. They are Polari: The Lost Language of Gay Men; and Fantabulosa: A Dictionary of Polari and Gay Slang.

The following are some Polari words and expressions. The ones with asterisks are those I’ve used in my novels, words that I find especially textured and evocative of the characters who speak them. They are listed in alphabetical order. Of course, you’ll see many familiar words among these. The surprise, as I’ve mentioned, is that the words were well known by the decade of the Roaring Twenties, and some of them even hundreds of years before then.

*Basket…The bulge of male genitals as seen through their clothing

Bibi…Bisexual

*Bit o’Hard … Male sex partner

*Bitch…Effeminate or passive gay male

*Blag…a pick-up

*Blue…Homosexual

*Bones … Lover, boyfriend, male bed partner

*Brandy … The buttocks; also, pre-cum

Camp…Effeminate

*Cod…Vile, nasty, naff

Dilly boy..Male prostitute

*Dish…Butt, buttocks

Drag…Clothes, esp. women’s clothes

*Kaffies…Baggy trousers

*Lattie … Home, house, flat, room (In Sparring with Shadows, a rented bed)

*Lilly…Police

Naff…Ugly, vile, hetero

*Nanti … Every possible variation of no, not, none, forgeddaboutit!

*Omi…Man

Palone…Woman

*Omi-palone…Homosexual man

*Rough trade … A thuggish or rough sex partner (see “trade” below)

*Scarp … (to) Leave, run off

*Slap…Makeup

Trade…Sexual encounter (rough trade… a blue-collar, thuggish, or even a violent sex partner)

Tootsie trade…Sex between two passive homosexuals

*Troll…To walk about, esp. looking for trade

*Zhoosh, zhooshy…(verb) To style hair, the adj. meaning “showy” or tarted up

Here’s a tiny excerpt from Sparring with Shadows which uses some of the Polari. The men are in a “gay tavern,” my own invention, and Michael tries to ease a couple off the bench so he and Simon can have a drink:

“Lads, d’ye mind moving on? Me friend and I need a private place to drink.”

Simon saw the bigger man look up with annoyance in his eyes and spittle on his chin. “Nanti that. Take yer bones an’ scarp.”

Simon thought he understood the Polari. “No. Take your boyfriend and go away.” He watched as Michael brought a sovereign from the depths of his trousers and idly flipped it, letting it spin and land back in his palm. The large stranger watched it with greed in his eyes. “But of course ye need a lattie fer your bit o’hard.”

Michael let the coin spin again in an upward spiral. The man reached and snapped the coin from the air, and then he stood. “Come, duckie, let’s find a better roost.”

Simon reasoned that “lattie” must mean some kind of bed, or any place to have sex. He felt himself blushing to be called “a bit o’hard,” knowing that at this moment he was, indeed, rigid as a table leg.

Michael pushed Simon gently onto the vacated wall-bench. “We’ll sit here, lad. Just follow me lead. Try to be pleasant about it, eh?”

I’ve used the language here as I feel it would have been used at the time. Really just having fun! And please note that the word “gay” was used as early as the late 1800s to refer to homosexual men, but not necessarily by gays themselves until the end of the last century, when it was “sanctioned” by major GLBT groups. So in my books, I stuck with the word omi-palone to refer to a gay male.

And last, the inevitable cover/link/bio to my published book containing Polari. The other should follow in a few months from Amber Quill Press.

The Novel: Heart to Hart: The Gaslight Mysteries … On Amazon.com … On Amber Quill’s website

Bio:

Erin O’Quinn earned a BA (English) and MA (Comparative Literature) from the University of Southern California. Her life has been a pastiche of fascinating vocations—newspaper marketing manager, university teacher, car salesperson, landscape gardener—until now, in relative retirement, she writes as she looks upon the drought-starved landscape of central Texas.

In addition to Amber Allure M/M titles Heart to Hart, Noble, Nevada and The Chase, Erin has half a dozen published novels. Of those, two are M/M historicals set in the Ireland of St. Patrick, in a day of badass clansmen, cattle drovers, druids, Saxon mercenaries and more. Those books, in “The Iron Warrior” series, are Warrior, Ride Hard and Warrior, Stand Tall published by Siren Bookstrand.

Four mainstream romances round out the historical novels: “The Dawn of Ireland” trilogy and Fire & Silk, all published by Siren Bookstrand.

Under another author name, she has written a four-book series of YA fantasies.

Erin’s Blogs: Gaelic Spirit The Man in Romance

Erin O’Quinn and Four Friends: Behind Closed Doors

Erin’s Historical Romances: SirenBookstrand

Including The Iron Warrior (MM) series

Erin’s Contemporary MM Romances:

Noble, Nevada on Amazon

Noble, Nevada on Amber Allure

The Chase on Amazon

The Chase on Amber Allure

Heart to Hart on Amber Allure (retro 1920s)

Heart to Hart on Amazon.com

about me: all works about me: MM novels

Facebook Twitter Amazon Author Page

FB Erotica Writers & Readers group founder. You’re invited to apply.

When westerners think of Japan they conjure images of fierce sword wielding samurai, secretive black masked ninja and, most iconic of all, geisha. Unlike the samurai and ninja, whose time has long passed, the delicate, kimono wrapped women with white painted faces can still be seen in the ancient capitals of Kyoto and Tokyo. Sadly, the once vibrant geisha culture is slowly dying out – soon it may be no more than a memory.

Although to those of us in the west geisha seem to be timeless, like all things, the tradition had a beginning. Women traditionally held one of two positions in Japanese society, wife or prostitute. Marriages were arranged to cement alliances between households, clans and fiefdoms. Love seldom, if ever, played a part. Wives ran the household and raised children, men looked elsewhere for passion. In the late 1600s the shogun decreed prostitutes confine themselves to walled pleasure districts. These flower and willow worlds existed in most major cities, the most famous being Gion in Kyoto and Yoshiwara in Edo (now Tokyo). The first geisha were actually male performers known as geiko, who entertained men while they waited for prostitutes. Gradually women began to take over these positions, dancing, singing and playing music to entertain the waiting customers. The pleasure districts became more than just a place to go for sex as the most highly accomplished of the courtesans entertained clients by dancing, singing and playing music. Gradually they took over the duties of the male geiko and became full time performers.

Female geisha were not allowed to sell sex, in order to preserve the business of the courtesans. Then, as now, a geisha’s sex life and her professional life were kept separate. The one exception to this rule was the practice of mizuage, where a maiko’s first sexual experience was sold to the highest bidder. The mizuage marked the transition from maiko to geisha. In this modern age the practice of mizuage no longer exists. Now maiko transition to geisha two to five years after they begin their apprenticeship in a ceremony known as erikae, or turning of the collar.

The word geisha is made up of two characters – gei which means art, and sha or person, so a geisha is actually an artist. They study and perform with traditional instruments, like the shamisen and shakuhachi, calligraphy, ikebana (flower arranging) and dance. Traditionally a geisha began her journey at the age of three years and three months, although many remained with their families until the age of nine or ten. In these modern times compulsory education comes first. The geisha of Tokyo and the hot springs towns like Akemi now begin their training at the age of 18. Kyoto, which holds most closely to the old ways, allows them to start at the age of 15.

It might surprise most in the west that the instantly recognizable white painted face and elaborate kimono belong not to geisha, but to their apprentices, the maiko. A mature geisha wears more natural makeup and a much simpler style of kimono and obi, only donning the heavy makeup for rare special performances. The easiest way to distinguish between them, though, the the color of the collar of the under kimono – maiko’s collars are red, a geisha’s collar is white. In both cases the collar hangs low in the back, emphasizing the nape of the neck, considered an erotic zone in Japan. The two or three strips of natural skin visible through the makeup at the back of the neck are also intended to highlight this area.

Maiko are apprentices contracted to their okiya. A considerable investment is made in their training, food, lodging, as well as kimono, obi, hairdressers and ornamentation. Only when this debt is paid off is she free to leave the okiya and work independently. Every maiko has an oneesan, an older sister, who is a full geisha. During her apprenticeship the maiko accompanies her oneesan to banquets and engagements, sometimes to perform, but often just to watch and learn. While maiko go to school to study dance and music, the other business of a geisha, serving tea, making conversation and keeping a man’s attention, are learned from her experienced older sister.

The society of geisha is female-centric. Although men are occasionally employed as hairstylists, dressers or accountants, the world of the geisha is, primarily, a world of women. Some of the most successful businesswomen in Japan run the teahouses on which the geisha depend. In fact, the geisha industry has always promoted the independence and self-sufficiency of women in a society in which they had few other outlets for such success. Many women chose to enter the world of the geisha to avoid marriage and control their own destiny. The pinnacle of such success ended in owning a teahouse, or an okiya, where a group of geisha and maiko would live and work together.

Today is the day – my publishing consortium has folded and my older books have come down from all the various outlets to be republished by . . . well, me. After the ups and downs I’ve had with small presses I’m going it alone from here on out.

Strength of Will has been self-published from the start since its rewriting – you can learn more about it on its web page Strength of Will where you can find all of the buy links.

The Shinobi Saga – Shadow Wolf and Geisha – are in the process of being republished as we speak.  New buy links will be posted as they become available on their web page The Shinobi Saga.

My short fiction – formerly available as In Dreams and Perfect Match – will now be bundled into an anthology with the rest of my short works called Sex Ray Specs.  Check the Short Fiction page for more information and buy links as they become available.

Is this a pain . . . yeah, kind of – republishing means the loss of reviews and ratings, it is, in effect, starting over (again).  On the up side, from this point forward my ship is in my own hands to sail where and how I will . . . and I like that!  Onward and upward, as they say. Thanks so much for your patience during this period of turnover.

First, a random word driven piece – these were not the easiest ten words to work with

pegged mammatus ink platform park transit lockup chainsaw corset cod

The irony of his situation was one of its most pleasing aspects. He was, after all, a creature made for submitting. To be bought by a master who desired domination almost made up for the past. Almost.

The act itself was two decades behind him. He barely recognized the shyly snarky pseudo intellectual who had so earnestly argued gender politics in an attempt to impress some silly coeds. That he had survived the psychosis his words inspired was, truly, miraculous. Or so he had been told. In truth, most days he considered his current life a cruel joke by an angry god, personal vengeance, perhaps, for some grand transgression he had already forgotten.

His transit from cocky teen to genderless thing had been swift, not subtle. He’d walked through that park a thousand times without encountering anyone. It never occurred to him that such seclusion might come at a price. Even the trauma surgeon refused to try and rebuild the shredded lump of flesh, realizing that salvaging a gnarled stump of cock would be pointless. The carelessly wielded chainsaw had merely nicked his scrotum, but there wasn’t much point to balls without a cock, and the repair was simpler with a single graft.

He had tried to go on as if nothing had changed, subsuming his anger in pain pills, liquor and futile, chaste dalliances with women. In the end he found himself neither wiser nor calmer. A chance encounter led him to a place he never imagined finding himself.

“Aren’t you a pretty thing.” The unfamiliar voice jerked him back to the present, to the role he was expected to play. It was a toss up as to which was more unsettling, the crop in his hand, or the massive phallus studded with shiny balls of stainless steel protruding from the codpiece he now wore. Both were symbols of how far he had fallen, or risen, he was as conflicted about that as everything else in this scene.

Up on the platform his master shivered in his bonds, inked trails oozing out of the tight corset wrapping his midsection, leather pants jerked down to his knees to expose the pale silky flesh of his ass for all to admire.

“Are you ready?”

“Yes.” The husky tremor in his master’s voice spurred his resolve. The crop snapped against porcelain flesh, leaving a mark, his mark, and the demon slumbering inside him tore free. When he finally stopped every inch of exposed flesh bore the record of his madness, reddened welts mixing with tribal tattoos in a cacophony of frustrated desire.

Now came the part he dreaded. The beast inside him tamed, for the moment, leaving him without the will to finish this passion play. That his master was willing, prepped and waiting gave him no comfort. The murmur of the watchers spurred him into action, burying the ridiculous faux-cock to the hilt.

His fingernails dug ragged furrows into reddened cheeks as his mind trumpeted the futility of his actions. Pegging was a game for women, not men. His cheeks flamed as he realized all the silent watchers must know of his peculiar lack. In an effort to disprove that knowledge he redoubled his efforts, plowing into the writhing figure with greater abandon.

As with all good things, his frustrated rage couldn’t last. Absent sexual satisfaction or the driving force of anger their copulation became just another task to complete. He found himself counting the indentations on the soundproofed wall, picturing towering mammatus clouds in their place. When the figure beneath him began to whimper he breathed a silent sigh of relief. The sticky spray of his master’s semen meant he could, at last, put aside this facade.

The transit from top to bottom was mercifully brief. The cruel cock discarded, he was stripped, spread, bound, and his soul absolved. This was the moment he now lived for, his desire released from the cage in which he kept it securely locked up.

As the first cock slipped inside him his breath caught, by the fifth he was panting, by the tenth, at last, transported. He shuddered through what passed as orgasm and fell into darkness. His last thought that, perhaps, he could stay cocooned in the soft richness of this moment.

His eyes snapped open, master slumbered beside him, ointment coated welts glistening in the dim light. And so, it began again, the futile race to oblivion that trapped him in the present. His joy, his terror, his destiny fulfilled.

And some to picture prompts -

I admit it – I have been horribly remiss in posting. The last year has been a bit of a nightmare, and my time has been split between home and the land of rocks and concrete (otherwise know as Las Vegas). So, a quick update on all my news and excitement.

Strength of Will

The Strength of Will revision is finally finished and edited. At the moment it is being uploaded everywhere and should be available next week. I’ll post links as soon as I have them. This book has come full circle. With its first publisher it went through many location changes, none of which I was really comfortable with. Now it is back in Japan where it belongs and, I think, it is much much stronger for it. My editor says it is my most accessible work – hopefully you all will agree!

Ripples

Ripples, the last book in the Shinobi Saga, is in its last revision before heading to the editor. It should be on track for an April release. If you wondered what Yoshi and Makoto’s life was like after their marriage, you don’t have to hold your breath much longer.

Sex Ray Specs

Last, but definitely not least, I am in the process of collecting all my short fiction into an anthology. The aptly title Sex Ray Specs has a little bit of everything, some sweet, to hot, to sad, to wildly transgressive. The only common thread – lots and lots of hot hot men. Here’s a sneak peek at the cover.

While Christmas is king in the west, New Year (shogatsu or oshogatsu) is the most important holiday in Japan. Most businesses shut down from January 1 to January 3, and families gather to spend the days together. That’s when the Toshigami, the Shinto god of the New Year, is said to drop by, bearing prosperity for the coming year. The Japanese decorate their houses, prepare feasts and break out bottles of saké.

After the traditional New Year’s morning toast with special toso saké to purify and invigorate the body, out come the osechi, stacked boxes of artfully arranged preserved foods specific to the holiday season. Traditionally this is eaten at breakfast, lunch and dinner for the following three days. (In modern times, many families restrict it to just a single meal, or bring them out as an accompaniment to a more varied feast.) Osechi-ryōri, typically shortened to osechi consists of boiled seaweed (kombu), fish cakes (kamaboko), mashed sweet potato with chestnut (kurikinton), simmered burdock root (kinpira gobo), and sweetened black soybeans (kuromame). Many of these dishes are sweet, sour, or dried, so they can keep without refrigeration—dating to a time before households had refrigerators, when most stores closed for the holidays.

Traditionally, years are viewed as completely separate, with each new year providing a fresh start. Consequently, all duties are supposed to be completed by the end of the year, while bonenkai parties (”year forgetting parties”) are held with the purpose of leaving the old year’s worries and troubles behind.

A kadomatsu (literally “gate pine”) is a traditional Japanese decoration of the New Year placed in pairs in front of homes to welcome ancestral spirits or kami of the harvest. They are put into place after Christmas until January 7 and are considered temporary housing (shintai) for kami. Designs for kadomatsu vary but are typically made of pine, bamboo, and sometimes ume tree sprigs to represent longevity, prosperity and steadfastness. After January 15 the kadomatsu is burned to appease the kami or toshigami and release them.

In another tradition, houses are cleaned for a fresh start on the new year.

At midnight on December 31, Buddhist temples all over Japan ring their bells a total of 108 times to symbolize the 108 human sins in Buddhist belief, and to get rid of the 108 worldly desires regarding sense and feeling in every Japanese citizen. The belief is that the ringing of bells can rid you of sins committed during the previous year.

On New Year’s Day, Japanese people have a custom of giving money to children. This is known as otoshidama. It is handed out in small decorated envelopes called ‘pochibukuro’. In the Edo period large stores and wealthy families gave out a small bag of mochi and a Mandarin orange to spread happiness all around.

Another custom is creating rice cakes (mochi). Boiled sticky rice (mochigome) is put into a shallow bucket-like container and patted with water by one person while another person hits it with a large wooden mallet. Mashing the rice forms a sticky white dumpling. This is made before New Year’s Day and eaten during the beginning of January.

Mochi is made into a New Year’s decoration called kagami mochi, formed from two round cakes of mochi with a bitter orange (daidai) placed on top. The name daidai is supposed to be auspicious since it means “several generations.”

Because of mochi’s extremely sticky texture, there is usually a small number of choking deaths around New Year in Japan, particularly amongst the elderly. The death toll is reported in newspapers in the days after New Year.

Celebrating the new year in Japan also means paying special attention to the first time something is done in the new year.

Hatsuhinode is the first sunrise of the year. Before sunrise on January 1, people often drive to the coast or climb a mountain so that they can see the first sunrise of the new year.

Hatsumōde is the first trip to a shrine or temple. Many people visit a shrine after midnight on December 31 or sometime during the day on January 1. If the weather is good, people often dress up or wear kimono.

Other “firsts” that are marked as special events include shigoto-hajime (the first work of the new year), keiko-hajime (the first practice of the new year), hatsugama (the first tea ceremony of the new year), and the hatsu-uri (the first shopping sale of the new year).

First I want to say thank you to the lovely Webbie Girl (Sarah Yoffa) for choosing me to talk about my next big thing!

1) What is the working title of your next book? Ripples

2) Where did you get the idea for that book? It’s the final book in the Shinobi Saga. I wrote it right after I finished Shadow Wolf, but, after some time away, I’m now re-writing the ending.

3) What’s the genre of the book? Transgressive homoerotic fiction

4) If you could pick actors to play the lead characters in your story, who would you pick? I haven’t the vaguest idea – I never even considered it for a movie, it’s awfully dark for entertainment, and I don’t know of any albino Japanese men Yoshi would need to be pretty, though, and Makoto large and intimidating.

5) How would you describe your book in one sentence? Married and looking forward to the future, Yoshi and Makoto’s life should be wonderful, but secret longings, old habits and their consequences make the future more uncertain than ever.

6) (a) How will your book be published, submitted through the traditional route to a traditional publisher or will you be handling it yourself through Indie Publishing methods? (b) If you’re an Indie Author, will you be publishing through your own Indie Publishing company or in a collective with other Indie Authors? After losing not one, but two, indie publishers I decided to take over the reins of my own future and have stopped submitting. It, like my other books, will be published by myself

7) How long did it take you to write the first draft of this book? I wrote the entire Shadow Wolf/Ripples manuscript in three months. Over half a million words in its raw state, about half of that in final polished form.

What other books within your genre are similar to yours? There really aren’t any books similar to mine, that’s why I started writing them. I wanted to read the stories no one was writing.

9) Who or what inspired you to write this book? I’ve always been intrigued by secret societies – and what is more secretive than a ninja? The perfect setting to explore the consequences of duty over self taken to the extreme.

10) What about your book will pique the reader’s interest? Hmmmm . . . a wedding, a foursome, births, deaths and twist and turns you would never expect.

Now for the fun part – tapping some wonderful authors so we can hear about THEIR next big thing! Erin O’Quinn, Kennedy Streath, Morgann Roddy, Krystal Brookes

HUMP IN THE NIGHT

Five stories of paranormal love in unusual settings with unusual characters in unusual situations. See the denizens of the night in ways you have never seen them before. Vampires who don’t sparkle, werewolves who don’t howl at the moon, angels and demons who are on the same side and fairies who are absolutely nothing like Tinkerbell

From the pen of the infamous Nephylim, weaver of dark dreams come five stories to thrill and tease the senses and to challenge all you’ve ever thought you knew about the creatures that go Hump in the Night.

INTRODUCTION

I’ve always had a fascination with ‘the dark’ I used to live near a cemetery and spent hours and hours playing there. Death is fascinating and what happens beyond even more so. I’ve been writing stories about ghosts and vampires and ‘creatures of the night’ all my life.

Even my romance stories have a dark element to them and usually someone has at least a brush with death at some point.

Although I’m not really an erotic writer, preferring to put sex in only when it’s absolutely necessary, the lure to engage in sex play with some of my favourite creatures was too strong to resist.

I had the most fun with the angel and demon, taking them out of their traditional roles and showing them as they really are – inhuman creatures of immense power. My angel is a monster and I love him. My demon is a sweetheart and I love him too. They certainly love each other… a lot.

The werewolf, too is not the traditional model, but an angsty teenager, or should I say cub, with the hots for the new guy in town. He’s hardly and alpha and is a big disappointment to his family.

As for the rest… well they’re all unique in their own way.

I love to write. I write all the time and always have. It comes easily and naturally to me. It’s all the other things—the editing and promoting—I have trouble with. I’m sure that resonates with a lot of people.

DESCRIPTION

Aster is a vampire looking for someone. When he finds Kia his plan is to fuck him and drain him, but Kia has other ideas. Recognising Aster as the man he’s been waiting for, he turns the tide and seduces him, shocking him with secrets from the past. Together, they enter into an encounter that blows their minds and changes their lives forever.

Lucien is a werewolf. He’s always known he’s different. Definitely not an Alpha like his father. More akin to the bitches than the muscular Beta’s or lithe hunters he finds himself drawn to. When the enigmatic lone wolf arrives, with his pure white hair and ice blue eyes, Lucien is lost at first glance. After a burning hot dream he finally submits to the dominant male destined to be his mate for life.

Dema and Meri’el are an unlikely coupling. In the final war against good and evil they find themselves on opposing sides. Dema the demon and Meri’el the son of the King of Angels. Drugging each other with their bodies they unleash the primal fury of their true natures and rock the foundations of the earth and the heavens.

Grey doesn’t believe in curses. When he uncovers a cavern deep under the mountain feared by the villagers as a faery tomb, he scoffs at the superstition, until he meets a stranger who lures him into the wood. A steamy encounter in a forest glade has him wondering if being cursed is such a bad thing after all.

Shay is mourning the death of his soul mate, tormented by the fact he’d never told him how much he loved him. A knife in the back in a dark alley steals his chance to finally prove his commitment, until ghostly whisper in the same alley leads to a night of passion and the second chance both men crave, to finally find peace.

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A Bit About Me

Nephylim was born into a poor mining family in the South Wales Valleys. Until she was 16, the toilet was at the bottom of the garden and the bath hung on the wall. Her refrigerator was a stone slab in the pantry and there was a black lead fireplace in the kitchen. They look lovely in a museum but aren’t so much fun to clean.

Nephylim has always been a storyteller. As a child, she’d make up stories for her nieces, nephews and cousin and they’d explore the imaginary worlds she created, in play.

Later in life, Nephylim became the storyteller for a re enactment group who travelled widely, giving a taste of life in the Iron Age. As well as having an opportunity to run around hitting people with a sword, she had an opportunity to tell stories of all kinds, sometimes of her own making, to all kinds of people. The criticism was sometimes harsh, especially from the children, but the reward enormous.

It was here she began to appreciate the power of stories and the primal need to hear them. In ancient times, the wandering bard was the only source of news, and the storyteller the heart of the village, keeping the lore and the magic alive. Although much of the magic has been lost, the stories still provide a link to the part of us that still wants to believe that it’s still there, somewhere.

In present times, Nephylim lives in a terraced house in the valleys with her son and her two cats. Her daughter has deserted her for the big city, but they’re still close. The part of her that needs to earn money is a lawyer, but the deepest, and most important part of her is a storyteller and artist, and always will be.

LINKS

General

Goodreads - http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4462803.Nephylim

Blog – http://Nephylim-author.blogspot.co.uk

Facebook Page https://www.facebook.com/Nephylim.author

Sales

All Romance http://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-humpinthenight-786310-144.html

Amazon (UK) http://www.amazon.co.uk/Hump-Night-Gay-Erotica-ebook/dp/B007Y7IC9S/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1336126590&sr=1-1

Amazon http://www.amazon.com/Hump-Night-Gay-Erotica-ebook/dp/B007Y7IC9S/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1336126590&sr=1-1

Apple http://itunes.apple.com/gb/book/hump-in-the-night/id524978900?mt=11

REVIEWS

http://haveyouheardbookreview.blogspot.co.uk/2012/05/hump-in-night-by-nephylim.html?showComment=1338395453648#c8412370113746703675

http://top2bottomreviews.wordpress.com/2012/07/01/hump-in-the-night-by-nephylim/

That’s right – a new meme for me – 69 sultry words each week! Follow the linky here to find all the other wonderful sultry entries!

I’m in a confessional sort of mood, so I’ll start by saying this topic has had me floundering for weeks. I must have written fifty pages . . . and then erased them. Then it hit me, the one word that derailed me each and every time, relevance. Only one person can decide whether or not sex is relevant in a piece of literature, and that is the author. Anything else is merely one opinion. You may like or dislike a piece, but only the author knows the story they are trying to tell. Whether it succeeds or fails is always a matter of debate. Art is, after all, subjective. I definitely don’t believe anyone has the right to censor an author’s words, no matter how offensive I may find them. Yes, there are things I find offensive (seriously, there are . . . just not much), and I exercise my right to choose not to read those topics. Once you allow censorship it opens a dangerous door, who knows what will next be considered inappropriate? I certainly don’t want my writing constrained by any limits other than my own.

Since relevance is in the eye of the author, all I can really talk about is why I think sex is an essential aspect of my own writing. Now, before you start screaming about ‘the children, the children’ – nothing I’m going to say is intended for anyone under eighteen, although, frankly, I don’t have any problem with children reading about sex. I live in a city full of pregnant teenagers and, believe me, they did not have sex because of something they read. That honor goes to the media that bombards them daily – television, music, advertising, video games, those are the most powerful influences on today’s youth.

I should come clean – I write erotica, explicit gay erotica. Before I go any further, let me clarify. I’m talking about sex in all its permutations, from barely consensual sexual torture to tender lovemaking and the entire gamut in between. My only real boundaries are no children and no women. I write about men exclusively because of the wonderful shifts of power and control possible in a same sex relationship . . . and because I love men. No offense to the ladies, but I don’t think I could explore the same boundaries of pleasure and pain without seeming overly abusive, and that is at the core of everything I write. Beyond that, there is something wonderfully vulnerable and revealing about the decision to relinquish power, and the potent eroticism of two strong, powerful men being tender with each other.

Remember the old ads in the back of comic books for x-ray specs? For me, sex is my x-ray specs. It strips a character down to his core truth and spotlights who they are with far more accuracy than pages of exposition ever could. Sex is the ultimate act of trust. Who we trust, why, and to what extent reveals much of our psyche that we would normally keep hidden. Sex is the catalyst for revealing hidden baggage, all the events and experiences we think are safely buried but which bubble to the surface under pressure. Our kinks highlight our transgressive natures, throwing into clear definition the whys and hows of our alienation from society in general. In short, it’s the knife I wield to cut to the truth. What knife do you use?