My good friend and fellow Northern Bird asked me quite some time ago if I’d like to co-edit a volume of Rubenesque erotica with her where all profits would go to charity. I jumped at the chance and the charity we chose was Parkinson’s UK . We both have family members affected by parkinsons and we’re excited to be able to contribute to Parkinson’s UK, a charity who supports sufferers and conducts research into a cure.
On to the anthology, it’s a thing of beauty indeed. Here’s the cover:
And the blurb:
Curvy girls and the men (and women!) that love them is the theme of this charity anthology, edited by Victoria Blisse and Lucy Felthouse.
From Zumba classes to Burlesque dancers, all kinds of big and beautiful women are portrayed between the pages of this book. Read about birthday surprises, smut at the gym, horse riders, lusty couples, naughty neighbours, skilled bakers, rope bondage and misunderstandings from some of erotica’s best authors.
Contributors and their stories:
The Wrong End of the Stick by Lucy Felthouse
Red Rag to a Bull by Victoria Blisse
Bella Buxom, Just Squeeze Me by JoAnne Kenrick
Captivated/Kidnapped by Love by Elizabeth Lapthorne
Cross Trainer Number Four by Lily Harlem
Riding School by Bella Blake
Flesh for Fantasy byLexie Bay
Lush Buns by Sommer Marsden
Six Lengths of Red Hemp by Tilly Hunter
The Big Reveal by Giselle Renarde
Girl Next Door by Bella Blake
My story, Red Rag to a Bull, is all about Grace a curvy gal who loves to Zumba and how she meets a hunky man at her excercise class. Here’s a little excerpt for you:
I’ve not had sex in four years. I was miserable for one of them and I’ve taken Zumba classes for the past three. You’re probably thinking that doesn’t make sense, but believe you me, it does. I will be forever thankful for the day that Sharon, my workmate, told me about her dance class.
I laughed her down at first. I am not terribly well co-ordinated and I’m a big woman, I love my curves and I didn’t want to lose them. But she explained it was just exercise, it wasn’t a serious dance class and I could eat extra chocolate and cake to maintain my luscious body if I wanted to. The extra chocolate tipped the balance so I decided to try it out with her one night. It was fun. The first lesson I spent most of the time trying to not trip over my own feet or stand on anybody else’s, but I enjoyed it. The upbeat music, the laughter and the sociability of it all.
I also loved the ache, the dull pain that told me my muscles had been used, the twinges that reminded me so much of the after effects of really good sex. I got into a routine, a routine I still follow. I’d go to my Zumba class, dance around like a fool, get sweaty, laugh, sing and work my big sexy butt off then I’d go home and masturbate.
I’d never stop to eat, drink or wash, I’d just get onto my bed and wank whilst the sweat was still beading on my skin and my muscles were on fire with exertion and I’d come. I’d come so hard it was just like having sex but without the messy bit. The other person and the emotional attachment you form to them. Perfection.
So Zumba and sex became one and the same to me. I shimmied and shook each week and wiggled my hips and imagined I was writhing against a man. A hot, sexy man with just enough muscle and a smile to melt my heart. In fact, when I saw him there a few weeks ago I thought I was having a really vivid daydream. It wasn’t until we took a break that I realised he was a real true life man.
“Hi,” I gasped between gulps of my water, “you’re new.”
“Yes,” he replied. “I am.”
“Enjoying it?” I asked.
“Not sure yet.” He gripped a sports bottle in his huge, tanned hand. I wanted those fingers to grip me. “I’ll tell you when I’m capable of thought again.”
“Fair enough,” I smiled. “It does get easier, I promise. I’ve been at it for three years now.”
“That’s why you look so confident up the front then.”
“No, that’s just because you’re viewing me from behind, you can’t see the funny faces I’m pulling.”
He chuckled. The velvet force of the sound rumbled in my chest, arousing my nipples and making me think of my post-Zumba session a little earlier than usual.
“I’m Dean, nice to meet you.” He held out his hand and I grasped it, hoping my palm wasn’t too sweaty.
“Grace,” I replied. “Lovely to meet you too.”
His fingers enfolded mine, exerted pressure but didn’t crush me. I imagined it would be the same if we had sex, a bit rough but nothing I couldn’t handle and give back in equal measure. I let his hand go reluctantly as the instructor’s words pulled us back into positions for the next dance.
I was energised. I swung my hips powerfully, followed the steps with a precision that I didn’t normally achieve, all because I knew his eyes were on me. We didn’t get to speak again until the end because every woman in the class wanted to talk to him. That was clearly the bonus of being the only man in the room.
I changed my shoes and picked up my bag and slipped in beside him as he left the hall.
“So, will you be back next week, Dean?” I asked, much to the chagrin of the woman who I’d just slipped in next to, though she had a wedding ring on so she shouldn’t have been flirting in the first place.
“Oh, definitely,” he nodded. “Great work out, great company and I really would like to get some of the steps right eventually.”
I put my hand on his bicep, noting its pleasant bulge, nothing fancy, just strongly sprung male muscle. I wanted to test it to its limits but in a much more private setting.
“You’ll manage that next week,” I said confidently, even though my stomach was churning with lust and nerves. “See you then?”
“Sure,” he replied, “you couldn’t keep me away.”
I wouldn’t want to.
There’s no big cash prize for guessing who was on my mind when I jumped into bed that night. I imagined us dancing alone, no instructor and face-to-face. I could see the sweat on his brow, the flex of his muscles, the sweep of his hips. He devoured me visually too, taking in my bouncing breasts, which even in a sports bra wobbled impressively with each movement. He dropped his gaze to my ample hips and long, curved legs as I cucaracha-ed side-to-side.
When the music stopped the fantasy continued. We hurried towards one another, crushed together in a mass of passion, lip-to-lip, crotch-to-crotch, burning with need and ripping off clothes.
I gripped my naked breast, plucked the nipple as I imagined him doing it. I ran my finger up and down my slit, gathering and spreading moisture and caressing my clit, bringing myself closer to the brink. I hurried my mental masturbation material on. We were completely naked and my back and buttocks were chilled by the wooden floor beneath me. He pressed his hard cock between my plump wet lips and I wrapped my legs around his long, lithe body, feeling the bounce of his taut buttocks with every thrust.
I came with a loud grunt, the visual dissipating as the orgasm bloomed and soon after withered away. I was left hungry, sweaty and wanting more. Zumba and masturbation were no longer enough, I needed a man between my thighs. I needed Dean.