Sex toys are awesome. There I said it. I feel better now, having that out in the world – how ‘bout you?

You know what else is awesome? Short stories. The kind you can curl up with just before bed without fear of pulling an all-nighter to finish. The kind that gets you to Happily Ever After before that morning cup of coffee goes cold. The kind that Delilah put together in Blue Collar.

And I really like the idea of these two awesome things melding together in a delicious swirl a la peanut butter and fudge.

But that decadent intersection in the great Venn diagram of romance where “sex toys” and “short story” overlaps is a tricky place. At least for me. In a short story, assuming the couple isn’t already “established,” there are constraints in the amount of time I have to show you, awesomesauce reader, how intimate they are with one another. Are they at a place where they can discuss wants, desires, toys? Or is it just raging passion with no thoughts of anything but lips and tongues and…well, you get the point? Also, my heroines don’t typically walk around with a vibrator in their purse (although maybe they should…). And how exactly does one broach the subject of the big dildo they’d like to try when having a first tryst with that hot-as-hell mechanic? Every word has to do double duty, counts for even more because of space, so sometimes it’s hard to work in the…extras.

But are these characters any less deserving of a rousing good time with a hunk of silicone just because they appear on fewer pages?

I say not just “no,” but “hell no!” I demand sex toy equality for all!

So, in my story “Mr. Big,” I made my heroine, Daisy, a sex toy consultant – you know, the type who hosts a party at your house with all of your closest friends and lots of wine. She’s on her way home from a party when her car breaks down…with all her goods in the trunk. And voila! Access to every toy you can imagine!

And our hero, Gabe, well let’s just say he’s up to the challenge. Cause who doesn’t love an adventurous, open-minded hero?

Never mind that these two have been harboring some serious feelz for each other for more than a while. Throw it all together and add in some rain and lost set of keys, and you have the makings of not just a fun night but also a night that changes everything.

Gabe and Daisy were so much fun to write. I hope you love them as much as I do.

And here’s how you can win a $5 Amazon gift card and a copy of my book Sanctuary: just tell me about a book you’ve loved that managed to marry sex toys (or other accouterments) and intimacy! I’m always looking for a good read!

“Mr. Big” excerpt…

“Daisy?” The way he asks, I know I’m not going to want to answer.

“Huh?”

“What’s really in those suitcases?”

I sigh, because why the hell not? “It’s sex toys. Lots and lots of sex toys.”

Gabe laughs because he thinks I’m joking, and I really wish I was. Selling dildos and vibrators to drunk, cackling, grabby women isn’t the most dignified career.

When I don’t join in, he sobers. “Oh. Really?”

“Yep. I sell sex toys.” I pump my fist weakly. “Woo-hoo.”

“Do you test them out?” He realizes the can of worms he’s opened just as the first wriggly pink head appears over the rim and tries to smash the lid back on. “And that is none of my business.”

I shrug. What the hell do I have to lose? He’s already admitted to looking at my boobs and giving me his number. Lord knows I want him more than I’ve ever wanted anyone in my life. Might as well discuss sex toys. “Some of them.”

“What’s your best seller?”

“Hands down, Mr. Big.”

Laughter explodes out of him. “Mr. Big? What the hell is that? Wait, I don’t want to know.”

I laugh too, now. “Oh sure you do. Mr. Big is the Rolls-Royce of dildos. Nine inches of anatomically correct purple pleasure. Made of easy-to-clean silicone and manufactured with a suction cup for shower play and a curved shaft for g-spot stimulation. He’s also grape flavored and ribbed for your pleasure.”

I finish my sales schpeal with a cheesy grin, and Gabe bites his lip to keep from laughing.

“Don’t tell me anymore. I don’t need to know,” he says, and then melts into hilarity.

I shrug. “Suit yourself, but you’re missing out.”

About the Author

Sukie Chapin has been a military wife, world traveler, almost-groupie and preschool teacher. Naturally, the next logical step was writing erotic romance. She lives in Texas where she can be found reading, writing, mommying, and making a homemade chocolate pudding that will make you want to slap your mama.

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