Let’s just be honest. We all have fantasies. And by fantasies, I’m referring to the hot and sexy kind. Sometimes fantasies are the spark that keeps our sex life going, and sometimes…they’re the spark that keeps our writing going.

I think, as erotica/erotic romance writers, we’ve got to be comfortable with our sexuality whether we’re writing graphic vanilla sex or….a little bondage and domination.

When I came up with the idea of writing Hands On I was watching the Blue Collar Comedy Tour. Admittedly NOT sexy, but my first thought was, “what about blue collar women?”

And so, my fantasy was to create three blue collar women who were sexually confident and comfortable with their sexuality. So comfortable in fact they’re open to experimentation (though Carlotta was a bit reluctant about being spanked) and they can all admire a great set of boobs. Maybe it’s just me, but as much as I enjoy the male form for all it’s hot, hard hunkiness, I can also appreciate the female form all it’s differences (and curves).

One of the things I really enjoyed about writing Hands On was the variety of fantasies I got to explore….everything from semi-public sex (more than once) to a FFM threesome to…you guessed it, a little bondage and domination (there’s something incredibly sexy about an oh-so-subtle Alpha Male).

So, what’s your fantasy…and if you don’t feel like sharing specifics, have you ever acted out one of your fantasies? Did it live up to your expectations?
I’m going to treat you to an excerpt of Hands On: Carlotta and anyone who comments below will be entered to win a copy. You’ve got until Monday June 4 and I’ll announce the winner on Tuesday June 5^th (my normal blogging day)

Devon tucked me in his car and to my surprise, took me for a burger.

The tiny greasy spoon was filled with truckers and families, hard working blue collar people like the men I was so used to working with. Funny I hadn’t thought at all about my new job or the fact that I had just over a week until I started. From the booth behind us a baby squalled loud enough to nearly bust my eardrum and behind the counter what sounded like two dozen plates shattered. Wincing, I rubbed my ear and nodded.

“Feel like getting out of here?” he asked once we’d had our fill of greasy, salty hand-cut fries and equally greasy burgers. They were absolutely heavenly. “Come on.” Devon tugged at my elbow and stood up.

Outside the humid night air was quiet, relatively so anyway with only the noise of trucks speeding up and down the nearby highway breaking the silence. After the noisy diner, I slid into Devon’s Passat with a sigh of relief.

Ten minutes later the neon light of an all-night bowling alley pulled me from the carb-induced stupor I’d slid into.

“You’re shitting me?” My jaw landed somewhere in the vicinity of my toes.

From beside me, Devon chuckled. “I gather you’ve never bowled.”

“Never.” I unhooked my seatbelt and let him lead me inside. This wasn’t exactly what I’d been thinking of when I’d agreed to a date. He’d tried nothing at the diner and obviously had no intention of trying anything inside a crowded bowling alley. And judging from all the cars in the parking lot, it was really crowded.

Inside, Devon paid for our shoes and our lane, then led me halfway down the alleyway, past families and groups of couples, drinking beer and soda and…bowling.

The incredible normalness of it almost sent me into hysterics.

“I promise, it’s fun.” Devon sat at the tiny table and slid his Nike’s off, and I followed suit, tying the ugly bowling shoes on my feet.

“I’m taking you at your word.” I laughed.

Once we had our shoes on he took me over to a long rack of balls situated behind us and helped me pick one out.

“Not too heavy?”

I shook my head, grasping the neon orange ball to my chest. After he chose his own, we headed back to our lane where an employee stood ready to set up our game.

“Can we get those bumper thingys like they have?” I asked, pointing to the family of five beside us.

Devon chuckled and gave the girl in the blue uniform a nod. Up went the bumpers. At least I wouldn’t have to worry about gutter balls. He went first, knocking down all but two pins on his first try, then knocking those down on the second.

“Your turn,” he said with a grin. He knew I didn’t know how to bowl.

Sighing, I stood and smoothed my sweaty hands down my jeans before retrieving my ball. I rolled it over in my hand, finally getting my fingers settled in the holes then quirked an eyebrow in Devon’s direction. “Do these come with directions or what?”

With a smile, he led me out to the lane. He held my hand at chest level. The length of him pressed against me reminded me too much of our practice session with the whip. I exhaled, forcing myself to focus and listen. “Don’t release the ball here. Release the ball at your hip. For now, just get used to the feel of the ball in your hand. Aim with your eyes and then swing. That’s all there is to it.”

“Yeah.” I slowly nodded my head then backed up a few steps and let her fly. The ball zig-zagged down the lane like a drunken sailor, crashing into the pins in what seemed like slow motion. “Oh look I knocked some down.” I spun around and gave him my cheesiest grin.

Four. I knocked down four. Not an auspicious beginning.

“So—“ Devon stood next to the ball return, “—did you like being in charge the other night?”

“I suppose,” I said with a shrug. Hurry up ball!

He wrapped his fingers around my upper arm before I had a chance to slip past him. “Honestly.”

“Honestly? Sort of, but not really.” My ball came shooting out the ball-return, thudding into Devon’s. I walked over and picked it up, cradling it to my chest again. “I liked it. I think. I even understand it all better, but I don’t want to be in charge, not with you.”

He nodded slowly, his eyes warm with understanding.

For my second throw I knocked down six of the remaining eight pins. Turning to rejoin Devon, I gave him a tiny smug smile that made him laugh. He motioned me over with a crook of his finger and we stood watching the child in the next lane…throw a strike.

“Not bad.” He patted my hip and retrieved his own ball. “How do you feel about whips now?”

“The rabbit flogger is cute?” I offered up halfheartedly.

He laughed again and promptly threw a strike. I saluted him from my seat before easing to my feet. “I really do like my flogger,” I whispered once he was close enough to hear me over the sound of crashing pins and happy chatter around us.

“I’m glad.”

This time I only knocked down two pins. “Looks like my winning streak is over,” I said almost to myself.

Devon sipped his beer and asked about high school as I rejoined him.

“I was too busy skipping class to play sports.” I accepted the beer he handed me with a toast of thanks and stood watching as he knocked over seven of twelve, then the last five.

“I would have thought you’d be more competitive,” he said when he finally rejoined me.

With a shrug, I took my turn, smiling slightly as the ball arced down the lane at a more respectable speed. “What about you?”

“Baseball and swim team.”

“Ahhh the boys of summer,” I quipped, grinning. “Brothers or sisters?”

“Middle son of three.” Standing, he handed me his plastic cup of beer to hold.

Damn him, he threw another strike! I drained the last of his beer and refilled his glass so he wouldn’t notice, but of course he did. He didn’t say a word, just smirked at me as I handed him his cup and prepared for my turn. “How do you feel about anal sex?”

I nearly dropped my ball, and then nearly fell as I spun around in my bowling shoes. A glance at the family behind me assured me they hadn’t heard his question.

He closed the short distance between us and smiled down at me. “You said you had a butt plug.”

“Never with a man.”

His howl of laughter drew stares, but I tuned them out and took my turn.

“Would you?” he asked when I turned back to face him.

“Maybe.” How could I be turned on by such a casual, non-threatening, conversational exploration of my sex life I had no clue. Maybe it was the beer.

This time he only knocked down ten of twelve again. I stood at the table, watching and sipping my beer. The icy cold brew burned a path down my throat and slipped down into my legs. I doubted it would improve my game much.

We met at the ball return.

“Blindfold?” he asked.

“Probably.” I shrugged. “What’s a spreader bar?”

“A bar that keeps your legs spread.”

Snorting in the face of his cheeky grin, I picked up my ball.

He leaned in, pressing his lips to my ear. “It usually hooks at your ankles but they have some that are made to go just above your knees. They even make them with shackles for your wrists. Interested?”

“Maybe.” I grinned, then went and threw my first strike. With a tiny curtsy, I rejoined him.

“Mummification?” he asked, refilling my beer.

“Ew. I’m not even going to ask.”

“Me either, but I thought I’d ask.” He retrieved his ball then turned, a pensive look on his face. “Paddles,” he mouthed.

“Like wood?” I scrunched up my face to show my displeasure.

He nodded and adjusted his fingers.

“Uh-uh!”

“Leather straps?” He held out one hand and shrugged as casually as if he were asking whether I preferred red wine over white.

“No!”

“I didn’t think so.” He threw another strike, then rejoined me at the table. “So what do you have against spanking?”

“Children get spanked, not adults.” I stood, ready to take my turn, conscious of his eyes boring into me. “Okay, fine,” I said, leaning closer so only he could hear me, “spanking gets a maybe.”

I lost and badly, but I wasn’t a sore loser and Devon wasn’t the type to gloat. Thank God.

Once we were safely settled back in his car, he started in again. “Your most secret fantasy?”

Sighing, I wiggled my back against the cushion, stretching out muscles I didn’t recall ever using. Who knew bowling could actually give you a work out? “Wha—“

“Fantasy. Secret fantasy,” he clarified.

“I…what’s yours?”

“You.”