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It’s February! The groundhog has seen his (or her) shadow, spring is a while off no matter what, and Valentine’s Day is about to arrive. Treat yourself or your sweetie to some sexy smut this month — Just comment here to enter to win a copy of either Best Lesbian Erotica 2008 or Best Gay Romance 2008. Your choice!

In case you’d like a little more help deciding which of these gorgeous books you’d like, here are some very short excerpts from my stories.

Best Lesbian Erotica 2008, “Native Tongue”

I start to lie down next to her on the bed, but she shakes her head. She makes a shimmying motion, her hips back and forth across the simple blanket. I tuck my thumbs into the sides of my bikini bottoms, wiggling my hips. Like this?

She puts her hands to her lips and nods. I slide my bikini bottoms down, half inch by half inch, shaking my body with it. Compared to Margret, I’m curvy. My belly slides in above my round hips, accentuates the curvy ass that I can only keep in shape with daily bike rides. She seems to delight in my curves as much as I delight in her angularity.

There is no “Am I skinny enough?” or “Are you sure you should be eating that?” There is only me, sliding my bikini bottom down over the wet and salty curves of me. There is only Margret watching from the bed, her lips parted, her own damp body soaking into the blanket.

I slide the bottoms down all the way, step out of them. Margret runs her tongue across her bottom lip and waits. I unhook the back of my bikini top. There isn’t as much here to shimmy out of, so I just let it fall away. I’ve had my nipples pierced since I last saw her: two tiny blue stones hanging from each peak. Tiny blue stones that match her eyes.

Best Gay Romance 2008, “Coming Home”

He slides his fingers beneath the baling twine, heaves another bale, and I tell myself that I’m not staring at his ass and his thighs in his tight, worn jeans. I tell myself that I don’t want to be that bale, fingered and tossed. I don’t.

“Dad and…” I hesitate. I usually call my stepmom “Mom” but with Matt here, I can’t say that. “They know you’re doing this?”

“Asked me to.” Matt finally stops moving. He’s bigger when he’s still. I have to take a step back, toward the edge of the loft, to make space for my breath.

Matt pulls a gallon jug of water from behind a bale and lifts it to his lips. His Adam’s apple bobs while he drinks and I have the sudden taste of October in my mouth, his spit flavored with apples and whiskey. A vision of him naked, slim hips and hard cock bathed in the candlelight of pumpkin smiles. The scrape of my knees afterward, from kneeling on the concrete in my costume.

I shake the image away and focus on the sweat rolling down the back of my neck. A diversion. “Jesus Christ, it’s hot up here.” I fan myself by pulling the fabric of my T-shirt away from my chest.

“Yet,” he says again. And this time, it doesn’t mean anything close to yes. It means, “fuck you, city boy.” And he’s right to say it.

He’s probably been up here for hours. All I’ve done is climb the ladder.

There you have it. Two sexy stories for the price of, well, none!

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