Aphrodisia Authors :: Blog

This might not be my morning to blog. For some tech reason I’m unable to upload the cover image for my latest Aphrodisia release Falcon’s Captive. Strange indeed.

Maybe no one has noticed but I’m late getting this done. Here on the west coast it is nearly 11 a.m. If it hadn’t been for an ad in yesterday’s paper, I would have tackled this blog much earlier. Here’s the deal. I live not far from Harry and David headquarters. Their peach orchards are producing at fever pitch, and once a year for one morning lasting no more than two hours until the supply runs out, they sell #2 peaches for 10 cents a pound. Need I say more? My kitchen counter is now filled with ripening peaches and I’m drooling.

Onto the reason for the above title–the other night I was meeting with some of my writer buds when the subject of research came up, specifically erotic research.

Picture this: one day my fellow writer/friend Rosie and I are talking about our ignorance in certain areas. As I remember it, Rosie was the one to suggest a fact-finding trip to Castle’s, the local sex shop. She insists I made the suggestion, but she’s wrong. Before Castle’s came to the area, the only sex shop was in a nearby burg, a tumbling-down little place next to a rundown hotel. No way would I ever go in there. But Castle’s wasn’t that far from Barnes & Noble and several nice restaurants. There’d been moral grumbling when they first opened for business, but things had settled down.

Although Rosie and I contemplated wearing disguises, we opted for honesty when we parked in the parking lot of another business and snuck in the side door still wearing our sunglasses. A couple of female clerks who looked like they were still in high school were unpacking, ah, costumes for a little BDSM play. No way was I going to head in tht direction. A beefy, tatooed man and his tiny girlfriend were looking at videos–another area I decided to put off for later.

No one was near the sex toy aisle so there we snuck. It was more of a corridor than an aisle with row upon row of dildos, a few larger than trees. Wincing, Rosie and I continued. I’d give a list of everything we examined but there were some items beyond my comprehension. Clearly my education had been lacking. Gathering courage, Rosie and I broke ranks, each of us heading for what interested us most. Lets just say that my purchase required batteries. When we hooked up again, we’d grown bold enough that we decided to check out the blow up dolls up close and personal.

That’s when we started giggling. And giggling some more. With tears streaming, we again separated. Somehow I wound up asking one of the underage looking clerks why certain toys were behind glass cases. Those, I was informed, were the Rabbits, popular and expensive and therefore subject to theft. Oh, duh, thanks.

Rosie reappeared with a middle-aged paunchy man in tow. Rosie, what have you done, I thought. Truth was she’d snagged the manager by telling him we were erotica writers. He was fascinated. And fascinating.

The highlight of our conversation with him came when he led us down a long, dark hall. This better be the way to his office, I thought. Then he turned on the light and our attention was immediately drawn to the three massive embroidery works on the walls. All three depicted lush nature scenes that made me think of Hawaii complete with birds, butterflies, deer, and magnificent flowers.

“I did those,” the manager said. “Each one took at least two years, and I’ve been offered $20,000 for them.” Believe me, they were worth it.

When the talkative man finally let us go, Rosie and I exited with our brown paper bags not daring to look at each other for fear of hysterical laughter and awe.

Have we been back to Castle’s? What do you think?
Vonna
www.VonnaHarper.com