About the author:
Holly Cherrystem went to Brandeis University to become a veterinary technician but was instead seduced by the lesbian lifestyle. Now she lives in a rent-controlled apartment above a pizzeria where a small monkey in a large minstrel costume forces her to write erotica and water-safety pamphlets. She has two cats and enjoys French cinema, volunteer work and disc golf.
What inspired you to write your book?
This is both a humorous look at the current craze of “humans with weird inanimate objects” erotic books as well as a legitimate piece of erotica in and of itself. Inspired by author’s like Chuck Tingle, I worked to create a lesbian tale that was steamy and amusing — but, most of all, memorable.
Here is a short sample from the book:
Walking naked from my penthouse apartment’s master bathroom to my walk-in bedroom closet, I stopped to look at myself in one of my full-length mirrors. Damn, I thought. Seven months pregnant or not, you look fan-fucking-tastic.
It was true what they said about an expectant mother’s glow. My face, already highlighted by my short, fire-red hair, now had an electric radiance like someone was shooting me with a Roman candle, a Roman candle that would never go out, would never scar me, would never let my lips become anything but two moist raspberry mountains ready to engulf some lucky climber in an avalanche of ecstasy.
My already-pert breasts were now perfectly plump, their nipples the big, auburn doorbells in a Jehovah witness’s wet dream. Below them, my belly, my noticeably pregnant belly. Of course, I’d put on some weight right there – but only right there. I carried that weight like my skin was a smooth, alabaster lacrosse net, ready to scoop down and score points in my seduction stadium.
My pubic hair was trim and tidy. It was a red-leafed Chia Pet you give your socially awkward but obsessively tidy niece for Christmas so she can drown the fact that she has no friends in a nightly ritual of fastidious landscaping.
And my vagina? My vagina was a svelte and curvy thing of beauty, a Disney princess’s nose if that Disney princess sneezed out rose petals, buttercream frosting and female fucking desire.
Yes, I was one hot preggo. But at that moment, I didn’t realize I was also one lonely preggo.