Let’s make that “are”! I decided to award all three of the commenters for taking the time to visit my blog. Cathy M, Connie and Annalise, I’ll email you each directly to find out which of my books you want. I hope you enjoy!

Ya gotta love blog spam. At first I got all these comments saying “great topic can you tell me more?” Innocent enough except when it was in response to Fuzzy Nipples.

Now I get a bunch saying “Good Job.” Nice sentiment, but when you click on the commenter’s name it takes you to cyber porn, or one of those business scams.

Who has time to waste posting these things? Do they have bots now that can comment on millions of blogs at a time? I see the bots listed in my visitor activity, but I can’t tell if they’re the ones spamming. So, until they catch on that I have comments moderated, I’ll just keep deleting their comments one by one.

That’s it, I need a spam bot that will go through and weed out bogus comments. Anyone know of such a creature?

I know condoms get a bad rap in our lives, the discomfort, the awkwardness. But think of the poor erotic or sensual romance author who has to bring one into play in the midst of choreographing a wild sex romp. As we’re typing madly to get all the body parts placed exactly where we see them in our heads, and get all the carnal reactions listed, from the first goose bump to the final frozen muscles of climax, we have to see in our heads exactly where that little snip of rubber is.

In Celtic Rhythm, my first erotic romance with Ellora’s Cave, I made the search for a condom humorous. Cait, the heroine, has a few years on the hot Celtic musician, Jake. Their rendezvous was unplanned, and in the middle of a deserted park at night. Jake hadn’t anticipated sex at the Highland Games, so he was unprepared. Cait, ever the Girl Scout, had one in her purse. One that had been there several years, when she was last involved with someone. She’s not sure which is more embarrassing – that a woman her age actually carries a condom, or how long that condom has been unneeded.

Once I got past that moment, I thought I was in the free. I mentioned it, I’m a good author, now back to the sex.

The problem is choreographing after the condom goes on. There are certain acts that become, shall we say, unpalatable when rubber is involved. So they have to come first. Okay, we’ll back up a bit and put the condom away for now.

Then we have disposal. Now, I know the characters I am reading about use the bathroom and belch and pass gas in their daily lives, but I really don’t want to read about it. Same with the used condom. But apparently, if I put it on him, I have to take it off. Each time. Rubber on, rubber off, repeat. Man, my sex scenes are too long, I’m buying stock in Trojan!

Erotic romance author Belinda McBride tells me that in her futuristic ero-rom, Belle Star, they have invented condoms in a can, spray-on protection! I need to bump that story up my to-be-read list and see how she handles that.

I’ve been telling myself to write historical erotic romance so I don’t have to deal with the issue, but research tells me otherwise. Cave paintings in the south of France show use of condoms as early as 100AD. (Wait a minute, there is a story unto itself! Who was painting erotic scenes on cave walls in 100AD? Was he an early Hugh Hefner or Larry Flint? A pre-written word Algernon Charles Swinburne?

Casanova is said to have used animal gut condoms, which were reusable, no less. Eww. He was known to provide entertainment at parties by blowing up condoms like a balloon. (Will you ever look at a balloon animal in the same way again?)

I’m beginning to see the benefit of creating closed communities as they do in BDSM fiction, where everyone is tested before they join and the writer can then drop the subject. Or travel to the future where disease and natural fertilization are no longer an issue.

In the meantime, I guess the condom is something I need to add to my checklist, post oral contact and pre-insertion. And somehow master the fine art of prestidigitation to magically remove the offending used article and dispose of it, without spoiling the moment.

No more falling asleep inside her. No more cuddling and cooing until after clean up. But where’s the romance in that?