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About the author:
Jinni Black is the super-secret pen name of an otherwise mild mannered romance novelist. She lives in Europe.
What inspired you to write your book?
A train ride from Geneva.
Here is a short sample from the book:
Cynthia and the Conductor — Excerpt — Jinni Black
“You should move on,” Ginny said.
“What does that mean—move on? My fiancé up and left me for another woman. How do you suggest I move on from that?” Cynthia couldn’t believe what she was hearing from her stepsister. Ginny was platitude central all of a sudden.
Her stepsister released a long sigh. “I mean fuck another guy. A new penis will make you forget about the old one. It’s always worked for me.”
“Like when?” Ginny was no stranger to ‘moving on’ all over Smithfield, Providence, and all of Rhode Island, for that matter. But she couldn’t believe a penis worked magic like lifting and waving a big, sparkly wand.
“Remember when Tony dumped me?”
Cynthia nodded. Tony had been a piece of work. Ginny had done everything for him from his term papers to his laundry. But he’d left her apartment one morning with a bag of clean and folded clothes and had never come back. Maybe it was a Patterson stepsister’s curse.
Ginny didn’t wait for any more of a response. “That night I went to a party at Alpha Ro.”
“After you graduated?” Even for Ginny, that smacked of desperation.
“That’s beside the point. I wanted free booze and a good time,” Ginny said.
Cynthia’s interest kept her from doing the elaborate eye-roll thing. “What happened?”
“I had a couple of Twisted Lemonades.”
“Wait. Is this the party that served drinks from an out-of-commission urinal?”
Ginny nodded. “I told you that part. Now I’ll tell you the rest.”
Cynthia sat back. She never knew what was going to come out of Ginny’s mouth. Might as well grab the pillow and hang on for the ride. “Go on.”
“There were two guys who were dancing with me all night. One was bumping and grinding me from the front. The other, the back.”
“Did you get their names?”
Ginny looked at Cynthia like she’d half lost her mind. “Let’s call them Desmond and Billy.”
Names were going to be beside the point in this tale. “Fine. Tell me about Desmond and Billy.”
“So we’re dancing to Li’l Wayne’s Lollipop,” she said.
Cynthia could hear the heavy bass bump and grind in her mind. The dim lights. Two hunky guys dancing like sex on legs.
“Desmond asks me to go back to his room. Billy asks the same. In my head I flipped a coin and picked Desmond because I’d heard good things about his skills around campus.”
“Fifth year senior?”
Ginny nodded. “Five and a half. In his case, that was a good thing. He’d had time to perfect his technique.”
“Not at education.” I crossed my arms and sat back, trying to be a good listener less stick-in-the-mud.
“An-y-way, I walked halfway up the stairs and crooked my finger at Desmond. Like a puppy, he followed me to the top. Then he led me to his room. Because of his seniority, he had a huge room and a king-sized bed. And he was good. Not shy at all and not quick about it. He made sure I was nice and wet before he pulled out his magnificent cock.”
Cynthia was nice and wet and slightly horrified that the tale had her turned on. She was a straight up missionary girl—except when Scott took his pleasure. But to voluntarily go and do it with a guy she’d never met. Geez. She took a deep breath. Ginny was still talking. Wasn’t sure what she’d missed. “…was like he could go on for hours. I think I’d come two times before he finally let himself go. I wasn’t thinking a lick about Tony.”
“Okay. Well, I don’t know if I can do the random hookup.”
Ginny leaned closer, her voice conspiratorial. “Here’s what really made me forget about Tony. I got dressed, ready to join up with the party again, but before I could get downstairs, I heard someone going ‘psssst’ and calling my name. So I turned left instead of right, following the voice. And there was Billy. His head was sticking out of the door of his room and I followed him into another room.”
“’I heard you getting fucked in the other room,’ he’d said. “I like a buttered bun. C’mere.’”
“What’s a buttered bun?” Cynthia asked. Then stopped. Oh, shit. It didn’t take a genius, or five and a half years of college to figure that one out. “Did you go in there with him? You’d just…”
“Women are capable of multiple orgasms for a reason.”
“Is this a biology lesson?” Cynthia asked. She knew she should have been disgusted, not turned on. Leaning forward, she eagerly waited for the rest of the story.
“Not hardly. I went in there. Desmond was long. Billy was thick. It filled me like…” Ginny’s eyes practically rolled back in her head. “Let’s just say he hit my g-spot.”
Now Cynthia had to roll her eyes. “Is that for real? Seems as mythical as the Bermuda triangle.”
Ginny nodded. “It’s as real as Amelia Earhart’s plane.”
“Who?” Ginny said. Cynthia had to laugh at that. After that tale, she barely remembered Tony. She may never think of Tony again. Desmond and Billy, on the other hand, had seared a permanent place in her memory. Maybe one day she’d be that kind of woman. She shook her head. Cynthia wasn’t that kind of woman. She was a big believer in serial monogamy. It would be a long time before she took the plunge again.