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About the author:
Debra Salonen is a nationally bestselling author with 26 published novels for Harlequin’s Superromance and American lines and one single title release with MIRA. Several of her titles were nominated for “Best Superromance,” including UNTIL HE MET RACHEL, which took home that honor in 2010. Debra was named “Series Storyteller of the Year” in 2006. Her current Indie publications include ARE WE THERE YET? — one woman’s funny, quirky, risqué journey of self-discovery on the road to love, a foursome of naughty novellas in her Screw Senility series, several short pieces, including a sweet “love story–not a romance” called A HUNDRED YEARS OR MORE, and CELEBRATE!–a newly released holiday anthology with four other authors.
What inspired you to write your book?
Very liberating, I must say. I hope the fun I had writing this series shows in the books.
Here is a short sample from the book:
Judy Banger had one goal and one goal only: survive the humiliation of having sex with a man old enough to be her father. Or grandfather. Although she wasn’t sure that was possible since she was fifty-four and Buddy Fusco wasn’t exactly doddering. Quite the opposite, actually. Bud looked pretty good sitting on the foot of her bed, legs spread, wearing nothing but a shit-ass grin. With the help of the little blue pill he’d made a point of popping the moment he walked through the door of her double-wide, he was flag-pole stiff and, obviously, proud of it.
“Hot damn, Judy, look at the size of this woody. Shit, I should have tried this stuff years ago.”
Judy stared at his reflection in the mirror of her antique dressing table. Her bed was just a few feet away behind her but unlike a rear-view mirror, objects were not smaller. Not at all.
She had to lick her lips before she could apply a coat of Flaming Coral lipstick. The salesgirl had assured her the color was, “Sexy mama hot.” She might have thought sexy grandma, but she’d been PC enough not to lose the sale.
“You’re gorgeous, gorgeous. Come over here. Let’s play.”
Gorgeous. When was the last time anyone called her pretty? She honestly couldn’t remember. Compliments had never been Shawn’s thing.
She looked at her reflection and smiled. Despite the butterflies wreaking havoc with the coffee and cream cheese Danish Buddy had brought and insisted they share “…for endurance, baby cakes,” it felt good to dress for a man, to splurge on new perfume and lipstick. She liked the idea of feeling desirable. It had been too long.
“Coming, Buddy. I want to look my best.” As she fluffed out her artfully frosted hair–her one big splurge, she caught his gaze in the mirror. The look of tenderness in his eyes made her remember: he’s a friend. This might turn out okay after all.
“I love you, Judy. You know that, right?”
She did. But she also knew what he truly meant. “I love the fact you’ll let me fuck you, even though I’m old and this could be the last time anybody lets me fuck them. Ever.”
That had been her rationale for conceding to Buddy’s three-month long “seduction.” He’d taken her to a boatload of dinners, more lunches than her waistline could afford, plus, he’d paid to have her front porch fixed–and she wasn’t talking a boob job. The redwood steps and landing of her double-wide had just about rotted through when Buddy called a contractor friend of his to rip out the whole thing and build a brand new, extra wide porch with a handicap ramp. She’d vacillated about the ramp because it seemed to cry “one step closer to old age,” but, as Buddy pithily pointed out, “If I don’t have to exert the effort to climb your steps, I’ll have more energy for other things.” He meant sex, of course.
I’m about to have sex with an octogenarian, she thought. I should be ashamed.
She was. A little. But she also suffered from a deep abiding sense of fairness, and, dammit, Buddy had earned this booty call. And what the hell! Sex was good for you and she hadn’t done the dirty in a long time. Way too long. God, what if her body forgot how to play this game? Or, her juices had dried up like that uncovered can of fruit cocktail in her fridge?
She glanced at the array of products on her dressing table. The tube in the pretty purple box promised more sizzle for her “big moment.” The damn thing cost twenty-five bucks. She’d better see freakin’ fireworks or back it went.
“You’re sweet, Buddy. I like you, too.” A truthful rejoinder. She did love him…like a friend, as Pru would have said. Judy’s BFF, Prudence O’Riley–flame-haired, ninety-pounds dripping wet and one wealthy male consort away from earning her AMEX Gold Digger card–had even expressed a fleeting hint of interest in Buddy until “Mr. Platinum” showed up on the scene. “Did you check with your doctor about those pills like I asked?”
“Sure, baby. Anything for you. Come on over here. Let’s get you naked.”
Judy had been thinking about this moment for a week and she’d decided to go big. “In for a penny, in for a Euro,” Pru liked to say. Luckily, Pru was on a cruise around Greece and would never have to hear about this moment if it turned out ridiculous and embarrassing.
“I thought I’d strip for you, Buddy. Would you like that?”
He laughed. A big, happy rumble she loved hearing. “Sure. Why not? As long as you wind up with my cock buried to the hilt in your coochie-coochie, I’m up for anything. Up. Get it?” he asked, giving his member a quick flick of the wrist.
The old-fashioned word zapped a few more butterflies. Old-fashioned equaled safe and non-threatening in Judy’s book. She could handle this. Buddy was a friend. He didn’t have any diseases…well, not the sexually transmitted kind. She knew because he’d shown her a printout from his doctor.
Let’s do this.
She hit the button on her iPod nestled in its compact player and the Maroon-5 song she’d downloaded that morning started to play. She’d heard it at the gym. Did she have moves like Jagger? Probably not, but Mick had ten years on her, at least. If he could gyrate like a young fool, what was stopping her?
Not a damn thing.
She’d picked her wardrobe carefully. Wrap around Hawaiian-print skirt. Low-cut white eyelet blouse that looked like something Catherine Zeta-Jones would wear. And instead of her usual wide-strap bra with forty-eight hour support, she’d bought a lacey underwire thing that barely contained her double-Ds–the bane of her existence since age fourteen when they suddenly appeared on her too small chest. Men loved them, though. She’d learned that quickly enough.
She closed her eyes and let the music guide her hips. She shimmied for effect, leaning toward the bed where Buddy and his up-periscope were waiting. Did his eyes look a little misty?
Oh. Tenderness blossomed in her chest. He really did care. She just hoped the tears were from joy and not pain from his major stiff one. She unwound the skirt and let it drop to the floor. “Bang,” she said, trying to sound sexy, not hoarse and nervous.
Buddy made a low croaking sound. Drool started to form in the corner of his mouth. He stared at her crotch and licked his lips back and forth like a rabid dog.
She looked down to make sure the tiny triangle of white cloth that claimed to be a thong was still in place and not wedged on one side of her labia. The fact that the string part had disappeared between her butt cheeks in a not so pleasant way made anything possible.
Normally, she was a modest, white panties sort of girl. But not today. Today she was a vamp. A seductress.
She stifled a giggle. Not the right sound for this moment. Definitely not the ambience she was going for.
Fingers shaking, she worked the buttons of her low cut blouse. “One little button…two little buttons.” She leaned over and shimmied, her breasts threatening to fall out of the lace cups.
Buddy let out a satisfying groan. He used his hands on his knees to pull himself forward. “Let me see those big beautiful girls. I’ve been dreaming about ’em ever since you started working at Heritage House. All the Herry men have the hots for you, Judy, but today you’re mine. All mine.”
His voice sounded raspy and strained, but she heard pride and exaltation in his tone, too. The bloom of red in his cheeks matched the healthy glow of his engorged penis, which he grabbed with one hand and waggled back and forth. “Come get a piece of this, mama.”
As corny as the line sounded, Judy felt her juices loosen up. She’d danced for her husband once or twice and the result had been red-hot sex. She’d forgotten how good it felt to be desired. She was ready and then some.