Guest Blog: AP von K’ORY

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The Short History of Chauvinism

By A P von K’Ory

Simon Thomas wrote a piece for the OED that caught my interest. It was about chauvinism. Now, that rings a bell, even without the ‘male’ preceding the noun. There’s been a whole lot of public discussion since the #MeToo movement. And the staggering public discourse around sexism, bigotry, and prejudice. Thomas brought the word chauvinism into my focus.

Most of us have heard the term used in the phrase male chauvinism, which means ‘male prejudice against women; the belief that men are superior in terms of ability, intelligence,’ and all the rest of it. According to research, the prevalence of this opinion dates back to the 1930s. There’s no need to explain the male bit. But what about the chauvinism?

Soldiering on

Who would have thought soldiers came into this, especially in an age where we have female soldiers? But  it all began, according to Thomas,  with one Nicolas Chauvin of Rochefort. Fighting in the time of Napoleon on the side of France, Chauvin’s one major disadvantage was the soldier’s nonexistence. On the other hand, his demonstrative patriotism and loyalty were the stuff of legend, and his name was used to celebrate as well as ridicule extreme patriotism, particularly as related to warfare. Indeed, the earliest sense in the OED is ‘exaggerated patriotism of a bellicose sort; blind enthusiasm for national glory or military ascendancy’. The English equivalent is jingoism, which was originally a nickname for those who supported the policy of Lord Beaconsfield in sending a British fleet into Turkish waters to resist the advance of Russia in 1878.

Here might be an idea for the historical novelists among us.

After the fall of Napoleon, the term – in the French versions chauvinisme – was widely applied to ridicule old soldiers of the Empire (who chiefly professed heightened admiration for all Napoleon said and did). Chauvin was popularized in the Cogniard brothers’ vaudeville La Cocarde Tricolor – translating as ‘the tricolour cockade’ – where tricolour is the French flag with its three bands of colour that most of us have heard of and seen, especially when it comes to football. The cockade is ‘a rosette or knot of ribbons worn in a hat as a badge of office, or as part of a livery’. A right royal show, by the sounds of it.

Broadening the definition

While ‘excessive or aggressive patriotism’ is still in use as a sense of chauvinism, it has also become used in the sense of ‘excessive or prejudiced support for one’s own cause, group, or sex’. So how did the broadening change occur? Well, the first use of chauvinism dates to 1870, and the broadening sense followed by 1955. It frequently appeared/appears with a defining adjective – such as cultural or scientific. Yet male became far and away the most connotative adjective.

Familiar with male chauvinist pig, anyone? Quite what the pig did to deserve this connotation is unclear, but the noun (again, for ‘a man who believes that men are superior to women’) emerged around 1970. Perhaps surprisingly, the earliest use of the term comes from Playboy (1970). The magazine – euphemistically labelled ‘an American men’s lifestyle and entertainment magazine’ by Wikipedia – isn’t always noted for its progressive views on feminism. Perhaps the Playboy quotation in which the term appears – ‘Up Against the Wall Male Chauvinist Pig!’ – isn’t the rallying cry for equality that it might seem, out of context.

Things have, therefore, come full circle. While chauvinism started life with a very specific application, it gradually grew broader, and then narrowed again. There are still a few applications that the noun chauvinist can have, but in isolation, it’s a pretty safe bet that it’s being used to suggest that somebody is a misogynist.

Another word which I plan to have a closer look at, as a writer of ©Sophisterotica, where my female MCs aren’t involved with ‘damaged’ men to save. Rather, the men may well be the saviours of strong, rebellious women, damaged or otherwise. Note the double entendre!

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Blurb: Golden Shana: The Chase (Book 1)

An evening at the opera house La Scala in Milan twirled the lives of five people into a web of intrigues, heartaches, human hunts, loss and revenge.

Roman: I never chased after a woman. It was always the other way around. Then I caught a glimpse of the woman I would kneel for, at the opera, and I didn’t even know her name. But I determined to find her if it took me the rest of my life.

Shana: He stood in the room with her. The frisson in the currents freaking between them was as solid as a steel portal. The mutual force of predator and prey blasted its way into her core … her soul … Danger. Keep far away from him.

Marie: Some men were born to rule the world; others were born to ruin it. Roman Alastair Northcott Broughton Castell was born to do both. But she loved him and awaited his baby.

Alyssa: He was the lover she wouldn’t tire of. Roman had something so damned perilous about him he was addictive. Who gets addicted to safe and riskless? Not her.

Grieg/Phoenix: Had His Girl interpreted that Friday night as abuse? He’d only done what she wanted – protection of her cherished innocence.

 

Excerpt from Golden Shana: The Chase (Book 1)

What a difference a day makes… And it hadn’t been a day. It had been an evening in Milan. Brief moments of an evening. I didn’t care about the consequences to whomever. Through my obsession with Svadishana I became aware of the fact that I was a person. A human being, not an almighty god, with all the baggage that comes with being that. I too – eureka! – had a heart pumping white and red corpuscles through my veins. Blood, not icicles.

Was it love I felt for Svadishana? A woman I’d spoken three whiny words – Please call me! – to? Was it more than simple lust and desire? Did I want to possess more than just her body?

Pondering these questions alone was so unlike me. That woman had turned me into an alien even unto my own self. What I felt, my inner voice said, was more than the thrill of the hunt. More than lust, desire, need, passion, the excitement of possession, and subjugation.

Of course all that was part of it. But the basis or the source, the seedbed on which all that sprouted and was growing to full blossom in me, could well be something else.

When I thought of her, saw her image from Milan in my mind, watched how she moved in long smooth strides in YouTube, my brow beaded with sweat. I couldn’t pull my gaze away from the few photos I’d fished out of the Internet. Group photos at a family birthday or the authorized biography of her father. Her movements in a YouTube conference clip were springy and powerful even in their smoothness. She exuded strength all over the place, laughing, talking, gesticulating.

A breath-taking beauty. Such beauty that I dared not believe it at times.

And brains to go with it.

In love or not, I knew what I wanted and Svadishana was the answer. I wanted her and would do anything short of suicide to get her. Who knows – perhaps when it came to that as the only means available, I’d really murder too. I didn’t in the least care about the consequences, as long as they got me to where I wanted to get to.

Svadishana’s arms and knickers and… heart?

What obsession, Roman. Get back to real.

No chance. Real was Svadishana.

 

Blurb: Golden Shana: The Capture (Book 2)

Roman finally gets together with Shana. But he finds himself wedged between three women and the man intent on killing him because of Shana. And there’s the secret of Marie’s unborn baby.

Roman: I wanted to eat all of her. Even within that fortress I longed to erect around her to hold her captive in, to keep her away from men not worthy of the sight of her, I’d devour her.

Shana: Roman was deadly sex. She had no antigenic for immunity against him. Instead she lay there on his bed, in an impossible state of sluttish disarray, holding her breath.

Marie: “So you didn’t bring your rich old cow with you.” The bitch was ten years older than her, years older than Roman himself. Weren’t men supposed to prefer younger women?

Alyssa: She was not going to let Roman treat her like a hole in the air. He started this triangle and she was going to make it equilateral.

Grieg/Phoenix: His philosophy stated that peace was bondage, and war was freedom. His Girl was his territory, and no other man’s.

Excerpt from Golden Shana: The Capture (Book 2)

I picked her up and carried her like a bride. Or a sleeping child. She nuzzled between my neck and shoulder. I kicked the door shut behind us.

We were both ablaze, and I needed to check that, wind it down a notch.

“Like to lie down on the sofa and cuddle till we both slow down a bit?”

“Bed.” Her voice vibrated against my neck.

We left the entrance hall behind us. The flames kept on leaping.

“Overriding my sensible decision?”

“Yes. Bed.” Tremulous once, tremulous twice.

“Just got me, and you want to run away with it.” I bore her past the living room.

“Bed.”

“I’m getting a restraining order on you.” I took the first stair, chest tight again.

She lifted her head off my shoulder and her Huskies sent megawatts to my blues. Unveiled desire. My balls clenched. At this degree I risked coming where I stood with her in my arms. I was tempted to close my eyes and summon my control. For the first time I felt life surge through my veins for a woman, the whole woman, not just sex with her. Again, I experienced that powerful instinct in me to guard and protect her, the fragile and most precious thing in my life. She had a pull on every cell in me. Her masses of loose curls gave warm slaps through my chinos to my hip, sending the sergeant into planning guerrilla warfare for its freedom.

The witch. I was hypnotized. I had to stop climbing the stairs and get my head cleared. She was as necessary to me as the air I breathed, yet she knocked that air straight out of my lungs. Her naked desire was intoxicating. Insanity mingled with reality. I really had her back in my arms. She came to me, came to my home for the first time. And ordered Bed, not a mutual shower. She was the first and only woman to take me to this Newland. She was my perfect balance. I’d fallen hard and didn’t even want to get back up. It happens to the worst of us ingrained rogue playboys.

The Huskies still pinned me in Newland. “Skirting around the deed, are we?”

“Protecting my golden goddess.”

For sheer survival, I broke the lock of our eyes and started up the stairs again.

Blurb: Golden Shana: The Untouchable (Book 3)

Roman doesn’t even want a harem. But the harem relentlessly seeks him. No sooner has Shana left Roman than Grieg/Phoenix is marking time on Roman’s door, out for a war, not a fight, over Shana. And so is Marie, whose pregnancy Roman still keeps a secret.

Roman: I loved owning women. Then I found my woman. But she would never be owned, not even by the gods. She left me. Still, her dangerous admirer and I began wars over her, not merely street fisticuffs.

Shana:  Roman scares me in every way and the fear excites me. I’m brainless in his arms, brainless just from thinking about him. He makes me navigate so many labyrinthine passages and secret doors that I’d never even been aware of before. My body knelt and wept for him. My common sense made me flee from him while I could.

Marie: I sold Roman my heart and soul. Only to realise my body had not been consulted, and was therefore out for war.

Alyssa: I really got all that about Roman. The super-ink indelibility of him, the substance of him that stamped his four-figure-euro Ferragamo Oxfords, the supernatural charisma that rocketed him all the way up there with Lucifer. His square would never fit my round. But hope springs eternal, right?

Grieg: “If I have whoever your girl is, why don’t you simply come over and take me off her or her off me?” Roman had not reacted like a man who had received that damning message. Over the phone, he’d sounded as if he didn’t have a single feather ruffled. Time to start the war.

Excerpt from Golden Shana: The Untouchable (Book 3)

I heard him change the phone to the other ear. “Castell, you’re a kid running a billion-euro crib, you pervert.”

My system actually waged wars for me to jump out of my skin. Control, Castell.

“Oh, yes. I’m about as straight as the U-bend under a sink, fuckwit. So is this the problem? A pissing contest based on having some beef about your wallet being a little anorexic in comparison? Have I got that bracketed?” I heard him swallow again. I decided on a blind knock on that, although for all I knew he was drinking water. “By the way, I’d ease up on the drink. Otherwise you won’t manage to solve the square root of bugger all, let alone remember if you have any other name but Sggirb.”

“I know you right up to your fucking perve room, Castell. I delivered the CD—had the CD delivered – right into your fucking office, practically into your hands. You know nothing about me. So you better watch your smart mouth.”

“Ah, you thought you’d simply storm the Bastille that’s my home and be discreet about it, then slink into my office building and show me the dot over the i that amounts to your balls? You’re right, I know nothing about you. You’re not even in my periphery, private or public.”

“I’m not a ball of yarn to your kitten, so watch your fucking mouth, Castell!”

Just to keep him put off his stroke, “Who would you say has all the tools for annihilation, fuckwit, the kitten or the yarn?”

“You’re lucky I’m—”

“Luck is basically mythical. Reality is called chance. How about we meet?”

He said nothing.

Not good, because now that I was screwing him hard, I needed to keep up the pace. So I said, “You could make it your mud hole or you could haul your arse back here to my city. Then we roll up our sleeves, or whisk off our T-shirts. Then we start doing a little tribute to Muhammad Ali out in the Congo with Joe Frazier.”

He said nothing. I heard him swallow at intervals during the silence. “I’m rapt with attention, fuckwit Sggirb, so let’s have a date and then – to quote your countryman –you are an American – float like a butterfly, sting like a bee.”

“You think you’re so fucking cool…” He rumbled the word out long: Coooooollll…

“Oh, I don’t just think it.”

“Just keep your hands off her, Castell. Keep your hands off My Girl!”

“If I have whoever your girl is, why don’t you simply come over and take me off her or her off me?” I paused for a reply, none came. “Or is this the sheep being docile until they get utterly famished?” Another pause. Silence, so I continued, “You sound like you wouldn’t find a clitoris if you were armed with a compass, street map and a fucking NASA telescope.”

“You can’t intimidate me, Castell.”

Which only exposed to me the wound I’d ripped open in him. Time to add chilli.

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BUY LINKS IN KINDLE – Please note that the books are also available in paperbacks:

UK Kindle: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Golden-Shana-Chase-von-KOry-ebook/dp/B00WA7M3OC/

UK Kindle: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Golden-Shana-Capture-von-KOry-ebook/dp/B06X1DGGMZ/
UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Golden-Shana-Untouchable-von-KOry-ebook/dp/B07H1YY28C#reader_1725967073

US Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/Golden-Shana-Capture-von-KOry-ebook/dp/B06X1DGGMZ/

US Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/Golden-Shana-Untouchable-von-KOry-ebook/dp/B07H1YY28C/

UK Untouchable PB: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Golden-Shana-Untouchable-von-KOry/dp/1725967073

Website http://www.Akinyi-princess.de

Twitter  https://www.twitter.com/Apky11162

Facebook

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Amazon Author Page

https://www.amazon.co.uk/A-P-Von-KOry/e/B00MDHD7ZS

GIVEAWAY!

 Make sure to follow the whole tour—the more posts you visit throughout, the more chances you’ll get to enter the giveaway. The tour dates are here: http://writermarketing.co.uk/prpromotion/blog-tours/currently-on-tour/a-p-von-kory/ 

Enter for your chance to win a Kindle copy of one of A P von K’Ory’s backlist books!

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Tina Donahue’s Romance Author Love In – 35 Authors – 35 Winners – Gift Packs, GCs, Signed Books, Swag & More! #Rafflecopter #Giveaway

Tina Donahue’s Romance Author Love In – 35 Authors – 35 Winners – Gift Packs, GCs, Signed Books, Swag & More!

Win books, gift packs, gift cards and more with Tina Donahue’s giveaway, including an eBook (ePub) copy of Taking Care of Leah! (See link at the bottom.)

Blurb

English teacher Leah Beauchamp works with teenagers every day, but when she’s around sexy Ty Sinclair, she’s left feeling like one herself.

After escaping a bad relationship, Leah Beauchamp moves in with her pregnant sister and brother-in-law. Working as an English teacher, she spends her time lusting after the hot caretaker Ty Sinclair. But it’s not until a drunken encounter at the end of the school year that she realizes it might be so much more.

They decide to embark on a new relationship over the summer holidays. Then Ty’s preferences for BDSM come to the surface. Intrigued, Leah allows herself to be educated by her new lover. But after a house party goes horribly wrong, more secrets are revealed and Leah is left questioning how she truly feels.

Can Leah accept who Ty really is? Can she ignore his past? What about her own? Can she overcome her fears and concerns and relinquish control, or will their hot summer romance fizzle out once autumn arrives?

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GUEST BLOG: JD MARTINS

Today we welcome fellow City Nights author, JD Martins!

Erotic novels are not everyone’s cup of tea. We all know that. But nor are romance books everyone’s cup of tea, or crime novels, or horror. Everyone has their favourite genre and by the same token, their least favourite, their pet hates, even.

Those are the shelves in the bookstore we pass by.

But we’ve nothing against others reading them.

Each to their own.

Except there are those who don’t think quite like that.

Instead they think that if something isn’t up to their own standards, then nobody should read it.

And they will take steps to ensure that people either can’t read it, or have a harder time reading it.

This is what we call censorship – the stuff of times past, we think, or of future distopias, ala Fahrenheit 911.

Here in Spain, Franco chopped pieces out of movies so the public could not see people kissing on screen. It’s quite amusing now, in some cases, since the actors who did the voices of scenes now returned to their rightful place in the film are different to the actors from the rest of the movie – who died before Franco did.

And yet, it’s not amusing. Not when censorship happens today, in 2016, in a place that for so long suffered from such repression.

But it is happening to my work, here in Pamplona. Whenever I put up a poster of One Night in Pamplona, another of the City Nights Series books, it disappears. I’ve posted it many times, with and without posters of other novels, and it sometimes stays up a day, sometimes a week, sometimes an hour. Often it’s the only book poster removed, but if I insist and replace it, the whole lot go at once.

And I am at a loss as to why.

The couple on the front are not very scantily dressed. They’re wearing tee-shirts. I can’t see kids taking them as souvenirs. The internet exists, after all!

The posters are near a hostel used by pilgrims on the Camino de Santiago, but never got removed until some squatters moved into a building opposite. And I asked some of the squatters – very liberal folk who value their freedom of expression – and they said they’re not the kind of people to take down anything.

But it offends someone.

I don’t know if it is because it is about Pamplona, and someone is offended an English writer would use the city as a scene for such a story.

Or perhaps it’s seen as demeaning to women. There are a lot of feminists in the squat. I am sure, though, they’ll know that these novels are mostly written by and read by other women. After all, if I wasn’t writing it, I don’t know if it would be my cup of tea…

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Excerpt:

“Feck, feck and fuckin’ feck,” he yelled at nobody in particular.
Amber guffaw.

“That’s all right, Amber. You have your laugh. I’m feckin’ drenched.”
Amber caught her breath. “I can see.”

“So much for finding a restaurant. If we can get a taxi to the hotel we can eat there. I have other clothes, and I can leave these hangin’ on a chair. They’ll dry before mornin’ in that sauna of a room.”

Amber stopped laughing and shook her head, though she still smiled broadly, her eyes glowing with mirth. It was like a little sunshine. “No. We can dry them at my house in half an hour and go for dinner later. It’s still early; there’s still lots to see.”

“If you’re sure,” Colm said.

Amber was sure. She hadn’t been until he fell. Well, she’d been sure she’d kiss him, but as to inviting him home, she’d not thought about it. Much. Well, okay, she’d thought about it, a lot; all the time they were holding hands. But she’d believed it was still a decision waiting to be made.

But once she’d said it, she was sure it was the right thing.

Well, maybe it wasn’t. He was getting on a plane the next day and flying out of her life, just like Billy had—though that had been after a lot more than one day. She didn’t like one-night stands because she felt she was just getting played again. But screw it, she’d made her decision. She didn’t go back on decisions; even bad ones. Her mami could attest to that.

Anyway, it wasn’t often she could let herself take such a chance. Normally she had the kids in the house and that made it impossible to bring a man home. Nor was it often she met a man who wanted to come home with her—or who was worth bringing back home. Since Billy left she’d only been on a few dates. Men didn’t get turned on by the fact she’d two teenage kids.

Colm looked like his ass was cold. The snow stuck to his pants and he pulled at them to keep the wet cloth away from his legs. By the time a cab slowed and stopped for them, the pants were nearly frozen stiff, and sitting in the cab wasn’t very comfortable for him. He made no move to lean against her now, so he wouldn’t get her wet. At least being frozen, water didn’t drip all over the seat, so the driver never knew the pants were damp.

Her flat was a small, two-bedroom walk-up in Mission Hill. She really needed somewhere bigger. But it had a nice deck on the back that looked out over Downtown, and when she got home and kicked back with a beer or a gin and tonic—weather permitting—it was her own little sanctuary. All the bullshit she had to put up with from customers and Billy and the kids and the landlady, and whoever else got in her way that day, just melted away.
Colm seemed to appreciate the view, and didn’t say anything about the small size of the apartment. Nor did he mention the fact it was only fifty degrees in the place. Amber supposed it felt warm to him after the cold bath. He looked around for the washing machine in the kitchen while she turned up the thermostat.

“I got a washer-dryer in the bathroom. I used to go to the laundromat, but man, I’m tired of doin’ that shit my whole life. Landlady doesn’t like it, but she can kiss my big black ass. I ain’t taking my laundry through the snow all winter. Not the way my kids change their clothes.”

“Have you got a towel or anything? Just to dry myself off a bit.”

She laughed. She didn’t think he’d be so shy about disrobing, somehow; him a big farmer and all. “You go get in the shower, warm your ass up. When I hear the water runnin’, I’ll come in and put the clothes in the machine. Then I’ll have coffee ready when you’re done.”

“That’s great, thanks a million.”

Colm got in the shower and Amber threw his clothes in the dryer. Then she put on some coffee. It would be done percolating when she was done with Colm.

In the bedroom she closed the blinds and turned on Samika’s bedside lamp so her own bed was in shadow when she turned off the main light. She didn’t want Colm to see her body in the cold brightness, exactly. She was going to have sex with him, but it didn’t mean she was completely at ease showing him her body. If she was, she’d have gotten in the shower with him already.

When Amber heard the water stop she went back in the bathroom while Colm was still towelling off. He seemed a little startled, but recovered quickly. He looked at her without speaking. She didn’t speak either. What was there to say?

She took him by the hand into her bedroom. He let the towel drop when he got there. She turned around and sat back on the bed, looking up at him. His whole body was extremely pale, his chest and belly covered in thick hair. He had a bit of a paunch, but a wide chest, and his arms and legs were muscular. He looked like he could pick her up and dance across the room—had there been room to stand.

He didn’t look like he wanted to stand much, though. She stole a glance at his dick, already rising to the occasion as he climbed on the bed beside her.

Blurb:

When Colm is stranded overnight in Boston, Amber, a hotel receptionist, agrees to give him a personal tour of the cradle of the American Revolution. Colm has loved and lost, and now takes pleasure where he finds it. Amber hasn’t quite found her feet again after a recent divorce, nor is she very happy with what she sees in the mirror.

As they drive through the historic streets and stroll along the Freedom Trail, taking in the beautiful architecture of Beacon Hill and Back Bay, their mutual attraction grows and both take a chance on happiness. But can they trust one another? Can Colm convince Amber he’s not just playing her, or is his one night in Boston just a fling?

10% of the author’s royalties will be donated to WWF, the World Wildlife Fund.

Buy Links for One Night in Boston:

Tirgearr
http://www.tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Martins_JD/one-night-in-boston.htm

Amazon US
http://amzn.to/20vJp4o

Amazon UK
http://amzn.to/1NJtUF3

Apple
https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/one-night-in-boston/id1099998311

Nook
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/one-night-in-boston-jd-martins/1123637513

Kobo
https://store.kobobooks.com/en-us/ebook/one-night-in-boston-2

Bio:

JD Martins has been called Spanish, Mexican, Chinese, Philippine and English and Australian. He is none of these.

He’s lived in four cities in three countries on two continents, but he doesn’t feel like he’s travelled very much. His life in each city was rather mundane and he didn’t get out much – tending to move his pen more than his body.

He still aspires to see much more of the world – probably when his wife becomes rich enough to let him retire from day jobs.

He would like to live like Ernest Hemmingway: periodically sending novel manuscripts to his publisher from various far-flung corners of the world, though he’s not sure the quality will be quite the same. Until then, he has contented himself with living like Robert Graves – in a pleasant part of Spain with a quiet life – and being able to do some things that Hemmingway did – trout fishing in Spain, game hunting in Africa, watching bullfights and running with the bulls, – and a few that he did not get to do – surfing, skydiving, bungee jumping, and getting erotic stories published.
https://www.facebook.com/JDMartinsauthor

http://www.tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Martins_JD/index.htm

https://plus.google.com/u/0/113993899494442135197/posts
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GIVEAWAY!

Make sure to follow the whole tour—the more posts you visit throughout, the more chances you’ll get to enter the giveaway. The tour dates are here: http://www.writermarketing.co.uk/prpromotion/blog-tours/currently-on-tour/j-d-martins/

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Lucy Felthouse’s Birthday Bash! @cw1985 #erotica #romance #giveaway #sale #99c

Lucy Felthouse is having a month-long celebration for her birthday, and she wants you to get involved!

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She’s giving away presents…

For the whole month, her erotic short story anthology, Multi-Orgasmic, will be just $0.99/99p in eBook format! The links are below for you to grab your copy:

Amazon UK
Amazon US
Amazon AU
Amazon CA
All Romance eBooks
Barnes & Noble
iBooks UK
iBooks US
Kobo
Smashwords

And secondly, she and some of her friends are running a huge giveaway at her website! The giveaway is also running for the whole month, and one lucky winner will get gift cards and a whole bunch of eBooks. So be sure to head over to Lucy’s site and make your entries:

http://lucyfelthouse.co.uk/?p=12760

Enjoy the celebrations!

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Author Bio:

Lucy Felthouse is a very busy woman! She writes erotica and erotic romance in a variety of subgenres and pairings, and has over 100 publications to her name, with many more in the pipeline. These include several editions of Best Bondage Erotica, Best Women’s Erotica 2013 and Best Erotic Romance 2014. Another string to her bow is editing, and she has edited and co-edited a number of anthologies, and also edits for a small publishing house. She owns Erotica For All, is book editor for Cliterati, and is one eighth of The Brit Babes. Find out more at http://www.lucyfelthouse.co.uk. Join her on Facebook and Twitter, and subscribe to her newsletter at: http://eepurl.com/gMQb9