Samhain Publishing Ltd Weblog

Bo-Peep Goes Bad

In the next few weeks I’ll be celebrating my fifteenth wedding anniversary, and my twenty-fifth year of being with my husband. Ours was a relationship doomed to fail.

At fifteen, my husband was a popular, brilliant student, who had managed to snag a reputation as the high school “player” (a title he still claims was unfair!). I, on the other hand, was just an innocent bookworm who faded easily into the infrastructure and was affectionately referred to as “Bo Peep”. When we first started dating, I was accosted by well-meaning upperclassmen, warning me of his wicked ways. And my husband was cornered by my best friend, who told him, (this is a direct quote) “Kerri doesn’t even HAVE a vagina, so move on, buddy!” (Like I said, I was everyone’s sweet little sister…)

I’m not sure whether he corrupted me or I corrupted him. But twenty-five years later, with two kids, and professional work experience with victims and perpetrators of sexual crime, I’m nobody’s “innocent.”

My outlet from the harsh reality of “the real world” is writing erotic romantic fiction. My husband is my sounding board, harshest critic, and co-writer. We brainstorm about plot twists, argue over characterization, and stew over dialog. It’s real work, and great fun.

Recently, we had a rare opportunity to have lunch out — without our children spilling the ketchup, playing with the salt, or begging to drink the creamers. We settled into a cozy little booth in the middle of a crowded steak house, ordered some wine, and prepared to enjoy a leisurely meal. Before long, our talk turned to writing.

At first, the conversation was innocent. But soon we were arguing over a particularly difficult scene, and without our knowledge, attracting an audience.

“I’d like to see her go down on him, slowly and deliberately,” he said.
“But even if he comes, he didn’t satisfy her and she wouldn’t leave it like that,” I argued. “At some point she needs to have a mind-blowing orgasm of her own.”

Between mouthfuls of salad and bits of buttered roll, we debated the use of X-rated toys, exchanges of sexually explicit dialog, and descriptions of sexual choreography. Our goal was to create a sex scene that developed our characters and moved the plot forward. That’s harder than it may seem…

Before our entrees arrived, we were interrupted by an extremely embarrassed, twenty-something waiter, who leaned over our table and spoke in a whispery voice. “Excuse me. I don’t really know how to say this…”

Heat rushed to my cheeks as I realized our voices had climbed from a low murmur to conversational volume. I wanted to crawl under the table.

“I’m so sorry. We’re writing a novel and –“

The waiter interrupted, his face going tomato red. “One of the other customers asked me to ask you if you could speak a little louder. He says he and his wife are enjoying your story.”

A couple of octogenarians sitting at a table to our left started to laugh, and the man gave me a playful wink.

So, here I am, days later, blogging. I’m still not sure if I’m confessing in the hope of forgiveness or bragging about sharing a little romantic fantasy with another couple in love. Either way, I am reminded of that old Virginia Slims slogan: “You’ve come a long way, baby.”

Bo-Peep is no more.

So, tell me… Are there any other writer’s out there been “caught with your pants down” in public? I’d love to know I’m not the only one…