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As promised, here it is: in honor of my recent good news (and, really just for the chance to rip off Alison Tyler), I present you with an opportunity to win a copy of either Best Gay Romance 2008 or Best Lesbian Erotica 2008. (Or, well, really, let’s open it up in case you already have both of those and say that you have your choice of any of the books that my work has appeared in, or will appear in sometime soon. If you don’t know what your options are, look at the bookshelf at the top of this blog or visit here and click the Books tab for a list of some of the best ones.).

So, what do you have to do to play? I want to know what you find sexy right now, right at this very moment. You can give me one thing, or a list of your current favorites. Give me something juicy, something way out there, something dark and dangerous, something that turns your head so hard you can’t breathe. Something no one else has ever thought of. (Anonymous posts are fine; just give me some kind of name so I know how to find you if you win)

I’ll start, just to play fair. My list for this morning, as I write from the coffee shop (and, yeah, this is just for this morning. It’ll change before lunch, I promise):

  • The barista who serves my coffee wearing rings that look like they could hurt, just a little bit, if used properly.
  • A recent memory of sipping gin and tonics in a vintage-style hotel-type bar with an old friend and, in the midst of conversation, being able to throw around the words tied up, flogging, parallel universes, pole dancing, fire jumping, travel and what it means to be a sensual, sexual being for our whole lives.
  • The way the rain outside the window jumps back up off the pavement when it falls hard enough. The way the flowers bend their heads to the ground beneath the pressure of the water, the way they submit quietly and don’t lose their beauty in the dirt.
  • My small, pale wrists slipping out from the dark brown sleeves of my shirt as I type this.
  • The woman who steps off the bus in her pink poodle-style skirt and ’50s heels, the black and red snake tattoo that spirals up her ankle and calf.
  • The white man on the walk sign, that stride that says, “I’ve some place to be, but I’ll get there when I get there.” The red hand that flashes on after him, saying “danger.” Saying “stop.” The fact that I’m going to ignore the warning, as I always do.
  • The curves of the letters as they appear on my screen. S and P and little a. The way a J looks like a whip and R seems like it’s stepping toward me. How if you turn B on its back, it begs. How rigid H is, and what it makes me wish I could teach him, just so he’d loosen up and have some fun. How Y is open, and O is just the way it looks and sounds. O. Oh. Oh.

Your turn. Tell me. You know you want to…

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