This is where you get to go backstage as your fave authors share something different about themselves with you... as well as show you their fabulous work.
My inspiration came from a getting an AAA pass to a famous summer rock festival. Now you're getting past security into a secret world. Grab yours and come right on in!
Over to K D who is going to tell us about her most bizarre journey:
Behind God’s Leg in Lapovo
Thanks for having me on Access All Areas, Kristal. When you told me what you had in mind, the very first thing I thought of was an unexpected trip Raymond and I made back in our dating days. Iza Božje nogu - Behind god’s leg - that’s the phrase in Serbo-Croat for the back of beyond, the south forty, the most remote place. That pretty much defines our little adventure. I’ve done a lot of travelling in some amazing places, some strange and fascinating places, but the most bizarre journey I’ve ever taken is our accidental trip to Lapovo, Serbia.
I was living in Zagreb in Croatia at the time and Raymond was living and working about three hours away on the Bosnian/Croatian border. Our long-distance dating often involved spending our weekends traveling and exploring what was then Yugoslavia. That particular weekend, we had planned a trip to Belgrade to visit friends. I took the train to Bosnia, to meet him. That was about half way to our destination. It turned out to be one of those Fridays. Three cancelled buses and two cancelled trains later, we finally crammed ourselves on a train heading for Greece, but stopping in Belgrade on the way. I knew that it stopped in Belgrade, but I asked the conductor just in case. I asked the conductor three times just to be sure. Back in those days my Croatian was pretty decent. I’d lived there nearly four years. But often train conductors on that busy route seemed to regard the sharing of travel information with passengers as consorting with the enemy. Better safe than sorry.
We rode a good part of the journey standing cheek to jowl in the isle with the masses of people heading for the capitol city. Finally we found a place to sit not long before the conductor announced the stop for New Belgrade, a stop just ten minutes from the main station. There the train disgorged the majority of its passengers and headed on. Twenty minutes later we began to suspect that something wasn’t quite right. We hunted down the conductor, getting more and more nervous as the lights of Belgrade faded in the distance.
Looking completely shocked that we didn’t know, the conductor told us that this particular train only stopped at New Belgrade and not the main station. But not to worry, he told us, we could get off at Lapovo and catch a train back to Belgrade.
Thinking that Lapovo was just up the tracks a bit, we returned to our seats to wait … and wait … When it became evident Lapovo was going to be a bit farther than we’d expected, we found the conductor again and asked the dreaded question. By this time we were nearly an hour beyond Belgrade. The conductor smiled ever so sweetly and told us not to worry that the train would be pulling into the station at Lapovo in just two more hours! These were the days before mobile phones, (yes I know, I’m ancient) so we had no way of letting our friends know just how terribly late we were going to be.
I was upset that I’d led us astray by not asking for more specifics from the conductor, but really I had never taken a trip to Belgrade but what the train stopped at the main station. Raymond just laughed it off. He said it would be an adventure, a unique date if ever there was one. I think that might have been the first time I realised just how much I loved him. So we settled in for a long chat, taking advantage of the chance to get to know each other a little better until we finally arrived in Lapovo in the wee hours. The conductor gave us directions to the all-night café and waiting area, and we disembarked. Our first clue that this was not exactly a metropolitan hub was when we stepped off the platform onto wooden planks laid down to cover the mud from the previous day’s rain, mud which was squelchy and deep on the unpaved path. We quickly learned that we had another two hour wait for the next train back to Belgrade, so we headed for the coffee house.
Inside the dimly lit room smelled of strong coffee stale pom frit and cabbage. There were a dozen dilapidated wooden tables with plastic tablecloths, a bar, and a television playing some old American programme about the occult. There were Serbian subtitles. There were maybe a dozen or so other weary travellers waiting, drinking coffee or beer or slivovica and munching sandwiches and pom frit. We found a table away from the telly and ordered coffee. Everyone seemed to be well settled in, so we assumed we were all waiting for the same train. The accents were strange and clipped, without the Croatian lilt I was used to, and the travellers were travelling heavy, gifts for family and friends, big plastic bags full of treasures and goodies that would not be making the return trip. The café was warm and steamy and the soft buzz of conversation made the television fade to background noise. And I was there in that strange place we never intended to be, in the middle of the night with the man I loved. It could have been a whole lot worse.
The train returning to Belgrade was right on time and, strangely enough for the hour, packed to the gills. Again we found ourselves standing in the isle trying to converse with very limited German with an Austrian couple on their way back from Turkey. Unlike the train on which we’d arrived at Lapovo, this one stopped at every little hole in the road. After about an hour of standing, we found a seat, and I dozed with my head on Raymond’s shoulder as the sun came up over rural Serbia.
It was daylight when we arrived in Belgrade. We took a taxi to our friends’ house. They were just getting up, still in robes, rubbing bleary eyes and wondering what took us so long. We had breakfast and lots of coffee while we shared our adventure with them. Then we took a little nap and woke up no worse for the wear, all ready to begin our slightly delayed weekend in Belgrade.
About K D Grace
When she’s not writing, K D is veg gardening or walking. She walks her stories, and she’s serious about it. She and her husband recently walked the Coast to Coast rout across England. For her, inspiration is directly proportionate to how quickly she wears out a pair of walking boots.
K D has erotica published with Xcite Books, Harper Collins Mischief Books, Mammoth, Cleis Press, Black Lace, Erotic Review, Ravenous Romance, Sweetmeats Press and others.
K D’s critically acclaimed erotic romance novels include, The Initiation of Ms Holly, The Pet Shop. Her paranormal erotic novel, Body Temperature and Rising, the first book of her Lakeland Heatwave trilogy, was listed as honorable mention on Violet Blue’s Top 12 Sex Books for 2011. Book two, Riding the Ether, is now available.
K D Grace also writes hot romance as Grace Marshall. An Executive Decision, Identity Crisis, books one and two of her Executive Decisions Trilogy are now available.
Find K D Here:
Facebook Author Page: https://www.facebook.com/KDGraceAuthor
After a sizzling encounter in KINKY BOOTS, a quirky all-night shoe store, with the store’s hot owner, FINN MASTERS, JILL HART walks away in the most gorgeous boots ever. Her new boots come with an unexpected bonus, a sexy demon named ELEANOR, who’s looking for a good time. All she lacks is a body, and Jill’s will do nicely.
Jill quits her dead-end job and, not knowing what’s come over her stops by the nearest pub intent on doing tequila shots until she falls off the stool. Instead she does FINN MASTERS in the beer garden, unwittingly participating in her first ever threesome. The boots were the bait, the timing was right and Eleanor has new digs. It’s Finn job to prevent Eleanor’s misbehaving. His failure means he’ll have to ride shotgun and do damage control until Eleanor moves out at the next full moon.
The clerk lifted her right foot into his hand. She tried to squirm away but he held her firmly flashing her a concerned glance from under a drawn brow. ‘You could have seriously injured your feet walking around Shoreditch at night in someone else’s shoes.’
The skirt she wore was a denim mini, and the way he sat between her legs made her feel exposed, vulnerable, and something a lot more yummy. As he ran his thumbs up her instep and over the pad of her foot, she shifted in the chair sliding down to accommodate his inspection.
‘Shoes are so important. They protect our feet, our soles, the only part of us that regularly contacts the earth. They allow us that intimate connection with our planet while at the same time keeping us safe from it.’ He continued his inspection of her feet, hands moving gently over her arch to the ball then to her toes as he cupped her heel in a warm hand. ‘No two people’s soles contact the earth in the same way.’
Her pulse thudded at the enthusiasm of his little speech which, along with his gentle inspection of her feet, felt shockingly intimate, even more so than if he had actually peeked up her skirt. His actions were having a cumulative effect low between her hip bones. ‘Maybe you could sell me something a little more suited to me.’ Her words rushed out breathless and unsteady.
He placed both hands on his thighs and looked up at her. ‘Did you have a pair in mind?’
She gave a quick glance around the store, and her eyes lit on a pair of mauve boots that came up just over the ankle, low on the calf. They sported delicate kitten heels and were threaded with sage green laces that looked more like ribbons, ‘How about those,’ she said. Then she blushed fiercely. They were lovely, elegant, and any idiot could see, totally not suited for someone like her. ‘Or maybe something a little more practical.’ She avoided his gaze. ‘A little less flashy.’
Ignoring her second thoughts, he stood and walked to the rack. She couldn’t keep from noticing how nicely his butt filled out his jeans. She could imagine that arse had sold more than a few pairs of shoes to women who liked a good view. It was then she realized he had taken the boots straight off the display. ‘I’m hard to fit,’ she said as he knelt in front of her and unlaced one boot.
‘Trust me–’ he smiled up at her, opened the boot and offered it to her like Cinderella’s Prince Charming ‘– I can fit you just fine.’
Buy Kinky Boots Now
Thanks for sharing that rich & romantic travel tale with us, K. D. - I'm still sighing! (Small world: I have a little adventure of my own from somewhere near there - Ljubljana, Slovenia - but that will have to save until another time)