For those of you who don’t know me…I’m a dirty girl. In my early 20’s, I hung around underground punk clubs in San Francisco and strange places like the 812 Cinema on Cannery Row where you watched Rocky Horror while sitting on pillows and throwing real toast. I wore smudged black eye liner, had spiked blue hair, wore torn fishnet stockings and had safety pins in my ears.
A few years later that all transitioned to long hair teased high, skin tight acid washed jeans tucked into knee high boots, tiny little Iron Maiden t-shirt, a white leather jacket and four holes in my left ear, the top hole being my first cartilage piercing.
Back then, I was flying high with a parade of hot younger men, running around with a girl named Sally who played guitar, and I had the yen to be something more than just another girl with tight jeans and a set of slightly better than average pipes. Sally called me “The Word Girl” and so I was, writing lyrics and poetry non-stop.
By the end of my twenties I’d had a baby and given up on the rock star dream. but by then I’d already begun to translate those dreams into stories that I put on paper, in notebooks. I got a little dirtier if you can believe it, still with the parade of hot guys, just not as big a parade as in my heyday, and I was pouring myself into stories.
And then as my thirties began to run out, I met my own rock star. Long curly hair down to lean hips. A tight ass. Faded 501 button fly jeans that molded his thighs not like a second skin – they weren’t that tight – but like a lover, skimming, brushing against the skin, flowing around every inch of his lower body just the way I wished I could.
Did he play guitar? Yep. Did he sing? Yep. Did he have a tattoo? Yep. I remember staring at his very professional looking Grundorf case thinking, “This guy shoulda been somebody.”
Well, he was. He was my Rott. Still is twelve years later, despite the fact that he was a little aghast at my ear. In my forties, the four holes became six with a double helix cartilage piercing the top of my ear. Rott thought the ear was tad extreme for my age. LOL I guess I still want to be a rock star.
But hey! The next best thing to being a rock star? Writing about them. Making them up and living vicariously through them. Giving them a hot courtship much like the ones I’d experienced in my years as a dirty girl. In the eighties, no one took the time to just date and go to the movies and get to know one another. You saw someone hot at a concert and the next thing you knew you were in the backseat of a car going at it like bunnies and then you’d drag each other around to backyard kegger parties that blasted the Scorpions and Judas Priest.
Sex happened quickly in those days without the long drawn-out courtship stuff. If you made it past the first sexual encounter with good vibes and some decent sexual compatibility, you moved on to try the boyfriend-girlfriend thing, discovering each other and learning each other as you went. Kinda like the whole traditional dating thing in reverse.
In my novella Rock My World, my hero and heroine know OF each other, and what they know is a turn on. Thrust together on tour, opening night adrenaline highs turn into a highly fueled sexual encounter. For Gia and Sin, one amazing night turns into more and the relationship begins to grow right there on the tour bus and becomes something neither of them expected.
For a taste of rock star Gia Santora and her younger opening act Sin Carstens, click HERE to read an excerpt! Thanks for having me at the Nine Naughty Novelists today!
LEX VALENTINE is a bestselling, award winning author who writes across genres from contemporary to paranormal, urban fantasy and sci-fi. A native of California’s Central Coast, Lex now lives in Southern California with her college student daughter Nikki, her long-haired, tattooed husband Ken, and a bunch of cats she calls “babies.” She loves loud rock music, builds her own computers, and works full-time for a cemetery/mortuary company as the network administrator.
Official Author Website: lexvalentine.com
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