OMG!
La Brunker has totally written her first buke and it's called "Champagne Kisses" and it's got like fit blokes and sweet nectar and explosions going on in your head and love at first sight and whiskings off to New York and...hang on, let a girl catch her breath!
Naturally, currychips has an exclusive extract.
He wasted no time in dismissing Henry, his loyal butler. Now he had me, his fourteen-bedroom residence in upstate New York and his collection of Lamborghinis...all to himself.
After guzzling oysters, he invited me to the drawing room for an armagnac. A roaring fire roared in the hearth. It was a hearthy fire.
I became dizzy as I walked around, contemplating all the priceless artefacts in the room. All the while he stood in front of the fire, looking me up and down. He did shift position occasionally to avoid singing his powerful buttocks but not enough to distract my attention from the opulent vista.
Suddenly I came a cropper, tumbling backwards over his elegant 15th century chaise longue. It was impossibly soft! My bottom became wedged between two musty cushions but the champagne made me powerless to resist. Or to dislodge the coins which had become embedded in my cleft.
He stood there, contemplating me. My Manolo Blahniks dangled in mid-air as he approached.
Without warning, he whipped them off and threw them over his manly rippling shoulder. They hit his shelf-like muscular bottom on the way down before hitting his freshly-waxed parquet floor with a kah-wallop sound.
My feet were clad only in my Hungarian fishnets. Without warning he began to nibble on them. My head tilted back in sheer ecstacy. Sweet nectar flooded my mouth.
Fuck! I had forgotten my headcold. I did a quick reverse-snort and just got away with it.
Suddenly he stopped. My toes wiggled feebly in protest. A low, guttural moan escaped my deep red lips. He seemed to be chewing on something.
Fuck! I had forgotten my corns.
I covered my face in my fur coat. He exited the residence via the window, operating his jetpack which he kept under his Bolivian tuxedo. My diamond-encrusted Dolce & Gabbana phone rang.
Fuck! I had forgotten to pick up my cat.
I wish it could be Christmas now I could buy a copy and pretend it's for someone else.
No, two. In case I got so het up that I dropped the first one.
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Comments (8)
Posted by ArseBurger | July 3, 2008 3:26 PM
Posted on July 3, 2008 15:26
that's made my day.
Posted by Rosie | July 3, 2008 4:36 PM
Posted on July 3, 2008 16:36
An easy target no doubt for one of your talents, but I had a much-need laugh (the didl pinot grigio helped), so thank you. Am delighted you're Back, more please. Or, are you going to write your own bonkbuster?
Posted by Elvira | July 3, 2008 11:57 PM
Posted on July 3, 2008 23:57
You should WRITE that book. Now that I would buy.
Posted by Walls | July 4, 2008 10:22 AM
Posted on July 4, 2008 10:22
Stop encouraging the woman, the sooner she realises that her place is gutting fish in a fich market the better.
Posted by Spectrum48k | July 4, 2008 11:50 AM
Posted on July 4, 2008 11:50
Janey Mac, it's uncanny.
http://www.sundayworld.com/showbiz/champagne-kisses-extract.php
Posted by europhile | July 6, 2008 3:24 PM
Posted on July 6, 2008 15:24
Dear Lord that book is awful! You actually managed to make it seem better than it was, Nats.
Posted by Walls | July 30, 2008 12:06 PM
Posted on July 30, 2008 12:06
I think it's a very good book.
Posted by Emma Jane | August 1, 2008 11:56 AM
Posted on August 1, 2008 11:56