Today’s guest author is the lovely Bebe Balocca, fine author of A Ghost on Two Wheels – which she’ll be telling us about today – and Carved into Her Heart. Please give her a warm welcome, and feel free to leave a comment or two. 😉
When and why did you begin writing?
Professionally, I’ve been writing nonfiction and entertainment articles as well as educational material for about eight years. I’ve played around with erotic romance writing in the past (and lost two partially completed novels due to computer crashes – sigh) I but got serious about it around a year ago.
What is your favorite thing about writing?
I love mentally entering a situation and describing it in such a way that the reader shares it with me. I love the challenge of trying to bring a scene and its characters to life. Also, writing erotic romance has definitely added some spice to my marriage – just ask my husband. He’s my biggest fan.
Do you have a specific writing style?
I try to use all of the senses – I aim for a very visceral, organic style – and I inject humor whenever I can.
What do you find is the hardest thing about being an author?
I write very graphic sex scenes and get the action down quickly, so that I feel it flows naturally. I have to go back and make sure I don’t overuse the same words to describe body parts. When you have a long sexual encounter, this becomes challenging.
Who is your favorite author and what is it that really strikes you about their work?
I have so many and I admire different things about each. I love how Stephen King makes every character alive, and he’s fabulous at the gross-out, horrible details. I love how J.R.R. Tolkien crafted a rich, real world – the LOTR series blows me away, every time I read it. I appreciate and applaud Janet Evanovich’s spare, unpretentious writing; her books are reliably fun and playful. Douglas Adams’s books are delightful, imaginative, and thought-provoking.
What inspired you to write A Ghost on Two Wheels?
I’ve experienced intense grief and I understand that desperate longing to have someone you love back with you. I wanted to explore what would happen if you could make that contact – both the joys and the frustrations you would feel.
Was there anything you found particularly challenging when writing A Ghost on Two Wheels?
“Ghost” is in first person, so I could only share what Ivy experiences with her own eyes. That works perfectly with the plot, but it had its own challenges, too.
How did you come up with the title?
I wanted to incorporate motorcycles into the title, since Michael’s Indian Chief is a major factor in the plot.
If you were to give your book a Heat Rating, (lowest) 1—simmering, 2—sizzling, 3—on fire, or 4—blazing (highest), which would it be and why?
“Ghost” is a 4. I don’t pull any punches with the sex scenes. The reader gets to see, feel, hear, touch – even smell – everything that’s going on during several encounters with Michael and Ivy.
What’s next for you?
“Bubbles and Troubles,” the first book of my Prescott Woods series, is available for pre-release from Total-E-Bound on December 24. It’s set in a small Kentucky town next to a woods full of magical beings. Like “Ghost”, it’s highly erotic, but it also has some great giggles. “Learning to Soar” comes next, with pre-release in January. In it, Chloe goes to a very unorthodox sex therapist, who treats his patients in his nightclub. “Soar” is definitely blazing as well – Chloe learns about various toys and accessories that help her with her sexual issue.
An accident tore us apart, but I can’t live without Michael. I’ll find a way to love him, even if it’s the death of me…
Ivy and Michael, her tattoo artist boyfriend, share a timeless, passionate love. Both work from home, so their breaks are spent together, making love and going for erotically-charged motorcycle rides through the countryside. They plan to make their bond official with name tattoos over each other’s hearts, but fate and a reckless driver bring their world to a crashing halt.
At first, Ivy is devastated by grief, but she finds that she can make contact with Michael once more. She can touch him in his phantom form and feel his ghostly caresses. Across the veil of death, their lovemaking is different, but every bit as heated. Their after-death journey is mysterious, romantic, and undeniably erotic.
Ivy and Michael learn that sexual pleasure remains after life ends, and that death doesn’t stand in the way of true love.
Thank God we filmed ourselves fucking. I select a recording from just a month before his accident and turn on the television. I crank the sound up so that Michael will hear it from the kitchen. He bursts into our bedroom and stands in front of the screen. His form is much clearer now. I can even make out his features a bit. The aquiline curve of his nose, the slight cleft in his chin, the lump of his Adam’s apple. Oddly, his hair seems longer than it did when he died. Now it’s a few inches long, rumpled and dishevelled. I’ve heard that ghosts revert to their mental pictures of themselves, so I suppose that Michael prefers himself with longer hair. Interesting.
He starts to reach for the power button on the television. Is he going to turn it off? “No!” I yell and grab for his hand. He pauses, his fingertip inches from the button. My solid hands wrap around his translucent phantom one, gripping it as best I can. He pulls his hand back and slumps onto the upholstered armchair beside our bed.
He leans back and watches the television. I kneel beside him on the thick wool carpet, watching our taped lovemaking unfold in high definition. On-screen, I’m stretched on our bed. I’m wearing the white lace thong and push-up bra he gave me for Valentine’s Day this year. Michael is standing by the bed next to me, naked, and holding his thickened shaft in his hand. “Come on, Ivy,” he urges in a husky voice. “Touch yourself for me.”
I remember hesitating, feeling that childhood shame at touching my pussy, but knowing that it must be okay if Michael wanted it so much. I watch myself kneel on the television screen, gyrating on the fluffy down comforter, and bring my hands between my thighs.
“That’s good,” Michael urges on-screen. He slides his fist over his erection as he watches me run my fingers inside my panties. Next to me in the chair, Michael’s ghostly form unzips his jeans and pulls out his own vaporous shaft. It appears more solid than the rest of him. It even has a tinge of ruddy colour. Michael’s ghostly hand begins to move over his cock in the same rhythm as the videoed Michael jerks off on-screen. Fleetingly, I think how ironic it is that I have two versions of my lover in the room with me and neither one is technically alive…
But fuck it, right? Love knows no bounds.
I place my hand on top of Michael’s ghostly hand and glide it over his stiff length. It’s growing harder in my grip. On the television, I unhook my white lace bra and slip it from my shoulders. My blonde hair hangs just beneath my nipples, obscuring them, and I tease the camera by swishing wispy locks of hair over the pink nubs, offering the most elusive of glimpses. I plunge the first two fingers of both hands into my mouth and suck, spreading my knees wide and twisting my hips. In the armchair, ghostly Michael pumps his cock in his fist faster, as does the corporeal Michael on-screen.
I watch the video version of myself lower my left hand, dripping with saliva, to my left tit. I toss my hair over my shoulder to bare it and then rub it with my wet fingertips. My nipple is stiffened into a tough little rosy spike. I rub and pinch it, plucking it between my fingertips. I lower my right hand to my panties and buck my hips against my hand obscenely. On-screen, Michael murmurs encouragement. “That’s good, Ivy. That’s really good.”
He’s growing more solid in the armchair as we watch the recording. I think the sex, both videoed and live—well, as ‘live’ as sex with my dead lover can be—is making him stronger. He sees me now—he looks into my face as I stroke him. He even raises one phantom hand and runs it through my downy blonde hair.
On-screen, I yank my thong out of the way and push my fingers inside me. I slide them slowly into my cunt, licking my lips lasciviously for the camera’s benefit. He’s jerking off faster on the recording—his fist is a blur as it flies over his erection.
I move between Michael’s ghostly knees and spread them wide. He yields to the pressure of my hands on his thighs. I am elated—he feels me. His shaft is rampant, long, jutting up from his lap like a tower. I lick my lips, close my eyes, and lower my face to his lap. I sure hope this works.
I live in the beautiful deep South of the U.S., where summers are steamy, big hair will always be in fashion, and the accents are so sexy they’ll make your toes curl. It’s a place where the men are ruggedly hot and the ladies know just how to get their attention. Can you tell I love it here?
Reading erotic romance is an escape, a blush-inducing mini-vacation – you might not know where the path will lead, but you know there will be loads of pulse-pounding surprises along the way. I’m a romantic, and as far as I’m concerned, there’s nothing more satisfying than romance in action.
In addition to erotic romance, I’m a big fan of sci-fi, fantasy, humor, and horror, so expect the unexpected in a Bebe Balocca book – and enjoy the ride.