Would you, could you, in a chair?

When I was driving home from Utah late last year, right before After Hours released, my daughter and I were joking about what I should write next. We came up with an erotic story involving a dentist because at the time we thought it was hilarious.

You know when a story idea goes ping in your head? This one did even though it was a joke. When I got home, however, hell had been released so every thing went on the backburner.

Recently I finished a rough draft and was reviewing the ‘to be written’ pile trying to decide which project to tackle next. Even though it wasn't on this list, the dentist story kept popping up. ‘Write me! Write me!’


I told the damn story that it was a joke and no one would read an erotic story involving a dentist.

Then I pictured the dentist chair. The one that moves in some pretty interesting positions….? ? ?

....and so I gave it a few minutes of thought and mentioned it on Twitter just to see the reaction. After typing the tweet, my brain went from zero to gutter in less than 3 seconds.

Picture me, sitting alone in my room, giggling about variations of dentist’s ‘tools’ and how well they might possibly ‘drill’. Alternate meanings of ‘open wide’ and … yeah, you get the idea because, yes, I can channel my inner 12 year old boy with the best of them.

So I’m throwing it out to you readers. Would you read an erotic story involving a dentist, or would just the thought send you running?

Knock, knock

I’d been up half the night with a sick toddler intent on emptying her stomach, repeatedly. Needless to say, I was a bit tired by the time I got the rest of the kiddos off to school. I did a little writing and when munchkin woke up, I took her to the living room couch to watch Dora while I tidied up. I was a bit surprised when my doorbell rang. I glanced at the clock. Too early for the mailman, so… sales man? I opened the door and froze.

There on my doorstep stood a man who put the G and the O in gorgeous. Clean cut, intelligent dark eyes, romance-cover worthy features, dark suit and a briefcase that screamed expensive Italian leather. I’m pretty sure I stammered hello while I fought not to wipe my mouth in search of left over éclair chocolate, and stood there cursing my lack of make-up, my pj bottoms and huge sweatshirt. Oh, and my ex’s too-big slippers that I use when I take out the garbage. (which I’d just done)

He smiled and said. “I’m looking for *insert neighbor’s name*”in this slightly accented voice that would have sent shivers down any hot blooded woman’s spine. Melt-in-a-puddle divine. I managed to tell him that she was next door *lucky !@#@$*, smiled, said you’re welcome to his thank you and shut the door. But you see, I’m a romance writer, so it wasn’t as simple as that. In the 10 seconds it took to complete the entire interaction, I’d created half a dozen scenarios, even deciding on what kind of heroine would be best for the part. God knew he was already the perfect romance lead. Sigh.

The moral of the story? Put some make-up on and brush your hair, you never know when inspiration will knock on your door?

LOL. No. No moral, but a guilty secret, this guy will end up in a book somewhere, I’m pretty sure. You see, I have a guilty little secret, sometimes live vicariously through my heroines. Do you?