Lenore purchased three of MP Finnegan’s books. They were edgy and fast paced both in and out of bed. Even without knowing MP was Michael Patrick, she would have guessed the writer was male by the heavy usage of cock, pussy, cunt, and fuck. Not that female writers didn’t use those words as well, but male writers tended to use them literally and almost exclusively. Plus, there were lines like, “She took his cock deeply in her throat and sucked him with the proficiency of a well-practiced whore. Marisa didn’t even flinch when he came full throttle, hot and thick in her mouth. When he finished, she looked at him vapidly and licked him clean, savoring every drop of his cum.”
LaSandra Lacy would have written something more like, “Genevieve took his swollen, pulsing manhood in her bee-stung lips and suckled him hungrily. Before he came, he pulled her to him and whispered huskily, ‘Evie, I want to be inside you, make love to you.’”
But was it male versus female or contemporary versus historic? She’d have to think about that some more.
MP stopped before what she called the squirm factor. Meaning the point where one might start to feel oneself flushed, wet, and overtly sexually aroused to the point of needing release. Some of the good erotic writers had left her feeling that way. Yeah, she thought wistfully, recalling some of those scenes were about the only way she’d come with John Irving.
Maybe that could be the plot line of a new book, getting rid of Mr. Gray and meeting Mr. Makes Me Squirm. She laughed. It would be great fun to write something truly visceral. Lenore liked the idea. It had potential.
She’d told Nikko that she’d have an answer for her today. Throwing caution to the wind, she decided to do it. “La Sandra Lacy and MP Finnegan team up to write… Write what? I guess that is to be determined,” she answered herself, picking up the phone.