We now interrupt your regularly scheduled Sophie Oak blog with this message from her beloved husband.
“Your wife writes erotic romance?!? Dude, that’s hot. Your sex life must rock!”
A lot of conversations start this way these days.
Being married to an erotic romance author is, in fact, incredibly interesting. The craziest stuff pops out of her mouth at any given time. Imagine if you will that you are rocking your newborn baby to sleep, your eyes drifting closed as your sleep-deprived brain fights for rest in the brief moments of silence. A gentle whisper calls to you, “Honey, what’s another word for sphincter? It needs to be sexy. Sphincter seriously isn’t sexy.”
Fast forward to an anniversary dinner in an elegant restaurant surrounded by tuxedo-clad wait staff and the soothing play of violins in the background. Just as you cut into a filet that costs more than your first apartment (it was the late 80s), your beautiful wife stares lovingly across the table and asks, “Babe, how long do you think I could keep a buttplug in my ass walking around waiting tables like that?” After performing the Heimlich maneuver on the poor elderly woman sitting at the table next to us (serves her right for eavesdropping), I politely respond, “I am not sure, but I am dying to find out.” By the end of our conversation that night, I think they were either going to go home and have the hottest sex of their elder years, or they were so depressed that they drove their Hoverounds into the lake.
Now put yourself in a different state of mind. The setting: the somber drive from the funeral home to the graveside service of my grandfather’s funeral. I adored him deeply, and I still miss him, and the task of being a pallbearer at the funeral of my last remaining grandparent had me reflecting on my mortality, the sad reality of the passage of time, and my fear that one day I would have to watch my parents, and even my friends lowered into the ground. A supportive and loving hand reaches out and caresses my arm as I drive. “Baby, you would like it if two different people were sucking your balls into their mouths at the same time, right? That seems like the sort of thing you would enjoy.” I have to say, I laughed all the way to the graveside service as did my poor sister and her fiancé -- the protestant minister. My beloved wife chuckled along with us and then looked deeply into my eyes and said, “Seriously though, that’s hot right?” The minister calmly responded from the backseat, “Yes. That is quite hot.”
The trick with being married to a woman who writes erotic romance for a living is always having an open mind, an open heart and never, ever getting suspicious when you find her whispering about anal sex with a strange man over Skype at 4am in the morning. (I love you, Kris Cook.). All in all, being married to Sophie Oak is a pretty awesome gig.
In response to the conversation starter above, I always respond. “Yes, dude, it is pretty hot and if you must know my sex life does rock.” Well, at least it is when she isn’t fighting a deadline.
We get asked a lot by our friends who have read her work if we have done everything in her stories. No comment, but I can share one thing. I never get tired of her asking for suggestions for how to combine penises and vaginas in interesting ways, and in a variety of numbers and combinations. I thank the universe every night that she didn’t decide to write about toothless, homogenized vampires or pill-popping, neurotic, strung-out urbanites whose existence is defined by their misery.
Next time I will tell you about the time I caught her bent over the sofa being mounted from behind by her personal assistant while staging a love scene.
Sophie Oak writes erotic romance for Siren Publishing.
Her latest book, Siren in Waiting, was released today at Bookstrand.com.