A visit to the local sex shop uncovers the sizzling sensuality locked beneath her cool façade, and she eagerly accepts the opportunity to test sex toys for SoloPlay Enterprises. Under the code name “Sologirl”, she begins exploring her body on her own terms. After all, no one was ever rejected by a vibrator.
Mark Winters needs his new DoublePlay line of toys to hit big, and there’s only one tester for the job—Sologirl. She fires his imagination with playfully erotic reviews and never fails to pick a winner. There’s only one problem—Sologirl refuses to test the DoublePlay toys for couples. With his company’s success on the line, he decides to make his offer again, up close and in person.
One look at the icy hot Mark and Alisa realizes he’s her best chance to discover if any man can satisfy her. A red-hot month of experimentation more than answers that question, but now Alisa has another problem—DoublePlay is almost ready for production and her feelings for Mark have nothing to do with business. Is she brave enough to continue playing…with her heart?
I will be forever grateful to the first boy who broke my heart. Oh, he was older, of course, eighteen to my fresh fifteen. He was an artist. He had long hair. He definitely fell into the bad boy category, and it wasn’t me, it was him that was the problem in our relationship. Naturally. That’s what they all say, right? I totally bought it. Sigh.
Actually, in hindsight he was right. It was him because he wanted sex, and this daughter of an obstetrician was a merciless cock tease in high school. I knew exactly how babies were made. I knew the failure rate of condoms and no way, no how, was I going to have sexual intercourse until I’d been on the pill for a month solid. Some girls spent their first hours at college decorating their rooms. Not me! I went to Student Health and got myself a nice prescription. But I digress.
Back to the cock teasing. Sexual frustration led that long-haired boy to try a number of creative things with me, my favorite among them being prolonged make-out sessions with lots of dry humping. Straight-up, no lie, that boy taught me how to make love with my mouth. Eyes open, lips, tongue, hands and body so responsive to every nuance of movement that kissing was like communicating on a higher plane.
I’ve often pondered what makes a good kisser. Attention to detail? An ability to cloak the “let’s get to the good stuff” urge? Is it technique or chemistry? Does unique synergy between two people make the kissing good or is kissing well a learned skill?
I tend to come down on the side of skill but I’m not certain there is a gold standard for kissing. A friend of mine claims to love the smooshy, no-tongue kind of kissers and I don’t understand that at all. Her kind of kisser would bore me. Vive la difference? Perhaps.
I always think about that long-haired boy when I’m writing a first kiss scene in a book. I wonder if he is still an exceptional make-out artist or if nostalgia has clouded my judgment. It doesn’t matter, really. He gave me a Webster’s Unabridged Dictionary, a shell-shocked heart and a lifelong love of French kissing. In some tiny teenage corner of my heart, I still want one more lip lock with that boy but it isn’t going to happen. It wasn’t me, it was him, and my characters reap the benefit of the lessons I learned in that bittersweet relationship.
What do you think about kissing? Skill or synergy? Technique or chemistry? C’mon…kiss and tell.
It makes me chuckle to think about all the romantic short stories I wrote in my rather too literary creative writing classes in college. If only one of my professors had steered me toward popular fiction! On the other hand, if I had discovered my calling back then, I wouldn’t have gone to culinary school, I wouldn’t have met my husband, we wouldn’t have had three children and I wouldn’t have turned to erotic romance to get my mojo back during all this hair-raising kid raising.