*cue wild applause*
"And now I come to Justine’s place, on my blog tour. My God, I feel like a proper author. I’m touring! Only on the internet, and at very few destinations. But the destinations are awesome, so there!
Take this destination, for example. It’s Justine Elyot! She’s amazing, she’s dazzling, she’s a superstar. But you know that, because you come here all the time and get dazzled by her, like she’s Edward Cullen only totally brilliant and not a banana-faced buffoon.
Anyhoo, in case you don’t know- I’m Charlotte Stein. I am, like, the lesser Justine Elyot. Think of Justine Elyot, and subtract 100. That’s me. And I have a release out on July 19th called Tigerlily, from Total-E-Bound! So Justine, being me plus 100, agreed to let me guest post!
And so I did a poem, in her honour:
Justine Elyot is all of the big words
The big good words
That I can think of.
Like: stupendous. Only that’s not enough
So how about:
But even that’s not enough.
She writes like a dream
About awesome things I can never write about.
And if I had not have been a Black Lace
Author too, I would have thought:
Who is this stupendofabulomazing person?
But I was, and so it came to pass
That I knew her.
My life is better for knowing her.
If I’d had
To struggle through the wilderness alone
I don’t know what
I would have done. Given up, probably.
So to Justine I say,
In the words of Anthony and the Johnsons:
You are my sister, and I love you
May all of your dreams come true.
And now a blurb, and an excerpt, and a link for Tigerlily! Which was my purpose for coming here, and that I kind of forgot for a minute there.
Oh what’s a girl to do, when she finds a sexy, naked man in her back garden?
When a naked guy turns up in Mae’s back garden, she can’t decide if he’s crazy or sent from heaven. He can’t remember his name, or where he’s from, but he seems to know one thing for certain- Mae is in need of some hot loving, and fast.
However, the more he persuades her to let go and give in, the more she finds herself believing that she’s met him before. But childhood games with a boy who she’s sure had wings on his back are giving way to her deepest sexual fantasies, and dreams of another world entirely are not far behind…
“There was a guy, running a blue streak through the trees. Mae Connelly could see him, even amidst the febrile greenery and the lowering light, arms pumping. Legs pumping. Cock swinging in the breeze.
Which was when she decided to stand up, and get a better look.
Purely out of simple curiosity, of course. Nothing unseemly about stepping off your porch to gawk at a man who appeared to be running through the field behind your house, buck ass nekkid.
And it didn’t sadden her—not even a little—when he ploughed into the long grass and everything below the waist got cut off. No—not even a little bit, uh-uh. After all, she was just a concerned citizen.
Concerned about someone who sure looked terrified. He looked more than terrified—she could see him, turning his head every five seconds as though expecting to see hellhounds behind him, chomping at his heels. He kept almost stumbling, like fear wouldn’t let him keep his footing.
And as he veered closer to her house, she could definitely make out red, striping his upper arms. The fact that said upper arms were sinewy with muscle and very nice indeed took a shameful backseat.
She shouted before her brain confirmed that doing so was a good idea.
It was definitely not a good idea. He fell almost immediately, at the sound of her voice. She saw him turn, and then it was all just tits over ass and nothing but the long grass, stirring, to suggest that he had ever been there.
All the possible reasons that someone could be running, naked and terrified, went through her head: escape from a forced nudist colony. Being hunted by a Terminator from the future. Sex game that went horribly, horribly wrong. Or right, depending on your kink.
But none of them seemed either a) plausible or b) sane. As far as she knew, forced nudist colonies didn’t even exist. And likely Terminators and time travel machines didn’t, either. Especially not ones that sent you through time with your ass hanging out.”
Thanks always, Justine!"
Waaaah, she wrote a poem about me! I plan to dig deep, find my inner McGonagall and return the favour - watch this space! And buy the book! You won't regret it, friends.