For the fantastical The Best of Sommer Marsden book tour, I wanted to address an age old question faced by many dirty, dirty writers. Is this story true?

I’ve chosen five stories from my collection and have answered the question: True? False?…Mebbe?

I’ll warn you, most of them are a mix of true and false but don’t fall squarely in mebbe. Mebbe is the coy category where the writer says: I’ll let you decide.

Here at Word Ejaculation, we’ll talk about Nothing But The Boots. Possibly my favorite story that is the perfect blend of ½ true, ½ false.

I felt poor Cat’s pain as I wrote NBTB, because *sigh*…yes, true story—I too have answered the door in nothing but a kimono and one purple boot. Only I didn’t find a stunning sexy job applicant waiting there to ravish me. No, I found a startled (quickly turned to petrified) mailman shoving a package at me and running. Hmph. You would think a man would enjoy a frantic looking blonde flinging her front door wide in nothing but silk and a single high heeled boot.

But…not so much.

However, the man did enjoy the story. And he really enjoyed when I deigned to model both boots later that day. Sans kimono. However, it was really hard to get him to stop laughing long enough to do dirty things to me. That’s what you get for being a haphazard sort of girl.

Excerpt from Nothing but the Boots

Cat rummaged through the boxes. She’d bought her monthly allotment of clothing for Lush and Ripe, two plus-sized stores with one-word names that always seemed to make her smile.  Her eyes found those fabulous purple boots again.

“I really need them.”

She said it sincerely to her own reflection. Her pink lips lingering on the word need. She’d been considering trying to seduce Sam the delivery man and wearing these boots and nothing else might do it.

She flipped open the box, ignoring the rest of the clothing and shoes that littered her studio apartment. The boots were the bomb. Her fingers tickled up the synthetic material that made up the shaft. It reminded her of a mix of well-worn leather and patent leather. “Superhero boots,” she muttered.

Her eyes found the clock even as her fingers fondled the footwear. She had time. Her brand new assistant was supposed to arrive today, but not for another hour. Cat knew it was crazy, impulsive and just plain stupid, but she did it anyway. She shucked her tight-leg jeans, her tee and her knickers. She stood there, in her abundant fullness and nothing else. Wide hips that curved up into a smaller waist, large breasts, ample belly, and kick-ass legs. Her legs were a deadly weapon, she thought. The boots would make themlook fierce.

“I have to test what I’ll look like when I put the moves on Sam in nothing but these boots.”

She sat on her bed, which was smack dab in the middle of her studio apartment. It sat in a patch of sunlight, its weathered white antique frame squatting squarely in the middle of her wide-planked hardwood floor.

She took all the packing out of the boot and felt a nearly sensual arousal course through her. It was very easy to imagine greeting Sam in just these decadent purple boots and then having him attack her like a wild wildebeest. That made her snicker and her breasts swayed slightly, ticking her thigh as she started to pull the boot up over her foot and ankle. Midcalf they were stuck, arrested in their upward momentum.

“Uh-oh.” The material was not nearly as giving as she had expected and, due to the nature of synthetics, the heat of her body had caused the shaft to stick on her leg. Tight. Cat tried to yank it up to no avail. “Fuck no,” she groaned. Then she tried to push it down. The boot would not budge.

“These are so going back,” she growled.

Panic swelled in her chest and she tried to suck in a great big breath to still her nerves. It was a boot. She wasn’t caught underground in a cave or anything, she was stuck in a boot. She rolled onto her back, splayed on the bed in all her naked glory – too bad she was alone! She hooked her fingers under the top of the boot and started to push.

“Move, you bastard! Move.”

Nothing. She couldn’t get it up, she couldn’t get it down. The foot bed of the boot dangled off her foot, mocking her, the heel pointing the wrong way toward the window.

“Baby powder?” she said, thinking aloud. But she didn’t have any.

Her mind raced. Lotion would make it worse, and the more panicky she got the more she sweated and the more she sweated the more she was sticking. “Cornstarch!” she crowed but then she remembered she didn’t have any of that either. She sprawled there on her bed, one purple boot half on, defeated. And then – The doorbell rang.

“No,” she whispered.

Cat grabbed her foot and yanked. She yanked and yanked and yanked and the doorbell rang again. Her eyes scanned the room. She was never going to get those jeans on over this Frankenstein boot. All her other clothes were still in the dryer down in the laundry room. And she didn’t have time to raid her closet because the doorbell was ringing yet again and someone was knocking on top of it all.

“Hello? Mrs Barbieri? Catherine Barbieri?” he yelled.

She groaned and rolled to her belly. Her eyes found the kimono and she felt hope. At least it was something.

“Yes! Hold please,” she sang out as if she hadn’t a care in the world.

“I’m Greg. Greg Irwin, I’m your new –”

“I know! I’m coming!” she yelled and pulled the kimono on. She held it tight to her waist, clenched in a death grip, but the peach and pale blue-patterned cover-up still hoisted and accentuated her generous cleavage.

Oh well, George would have to deal with it.  She stagger-stepped in her half-on boot to the front door and yanked it open , her mood already sour. There was no point in attempting dignity. “Come in, George,” she growled.

“It’s … um … Greg,” he said and took a tentative step inside.

He looked scared to death and Cat did not blame him one bit. Worst part was, she recognized this man. This was not her first meeting with Greg. She had met Greg at a singles event her friend Mary had dragged her to. She and Greg had shared some pretty steamy glances but had never had a chance to talk in the crowd.

“Of course it is. Sorry, Greg,” she sighed.

She saw him make the mental connection and he said

“Hey, aren’t you – ”

“Yes, yes I am,” she sighed and turned her back to him and hobbled across the floor, trying very hard to appear unflappable in her silk kimono and her fucked-up footwear.

“I didn’t know my big boss would be –”

“Naked under a kimono and stuck in a stolen boot?” she asked.

“Naked?”

“Buck. Or is it butt?” Cat asked.

*****

From edgy and intense, to light and comedic, this collection of over twenty hand-picked dirty tales runs the gamut of erotic fiction.

Stories include a supernatural spurred ménage, a captivating Dom who takes control at a crowded house party, an irresistible alpha who makes recycling kind to the body and the planet. A husband encouraging his wife to take advantage of a girl crush and a woman who can’t help but lose herself between two of her two best friends in a night of passion. A curvaceous woman gets stuck in her boot—that’s right, just one—before an important interview with a handsome applicant and a public spanking makes a young woman reconsider the disposable nature of her rebound guy.

Find out why Sommer Marsden’s been called “…one of the top storytellers in the erotica genre” (Violet Blue), “Unapologetic” (Alison Tyler) and “…the whirling dervish of erotica” (Craig J. Sorensen). It’s all right here in this collection. All you have to do is step inside.

Available in paperback from Amazon UK, Amazon US, Waterstone’s and The Book Depository – and coming soon to all other good retailers.

eBook edition is available from All Romance eBooks, and coming soon to all other good eBook retailers.

*****

About the author:
Sommer Marsden’s been called “…one of the top storytellers in the erotica genre” (Violet Blue), “Unapologetic” (Alison Tyler) and “…the whirling dervish of erotica” (Craig J. Sorensen).

Her erotic novels include Hard Lessons, Calendar Girl, Learning to Drown, Lucky 13 and The Best of Sommer Marsden (coming December ’11). Sommer currently writes erotica and erotic romance for Xcite Books, eXcessica, Ellora’s Cave, Pretty Things Press and Resplendence Publishing. The wine-swigging, dachshund-owning, wannabe runner author writes work that runs the gamut from bondage to zombies to humor.

Sommer’s short works can be found in over a hundred (and counting) erotic anthologies. Her short stories have also been included numerous adult and romance magazines–both in print and online.

Visit Sommer at Unapologetic Fiction by visiting http://sommermarsden.blogspot.com or find her on Twitter (@sommer_marsden).
Email: hot4sommer@yahoo.com
Website: http://sommermarsden.blogspot.com

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