Birkenstock-wearing glamour girl and mother of two by immaculate conception, Daisy Harris still isn't sure if she writes erotica. Her romances start out innocently enough. However, her characters behave like complete sluts. Much to Miss Harris's dismay the sex tends to get completely out of hand.
She writes about fantastical creatures and about young men getting their freak on, and she's never missed an episode of The Walking Dead
Daisy will be awarding a large-size dildo, a scented penis candle, as well as a $20 gift certificate to the winner’s choice of Barnes and Noble or Amazon to a randomly drawn commenter during the tour.
Coming of Age—In Bed
First off, thank you so much, ladies of (name of blog) for hosting me today! I’m sure we’ll all have a blast. J
So, I wrote a book. It’s called My Fair Dork.
(Actually, I’ve written a lot of books, but My Fair Dork is the one we’re going to be talking about today.)
My Fair Dork is a coming of age story. In fact, it may be the most dead-on coming of age story in the entire Men of Holsum College series. Sure, all Holsum College tales involve young guys learning about themselves as they find love. But in a romance, the love takes center stage, whereas in a true coming of age tale, the story is all about the hero.
Take Harry Potter—it’s not about Ginny Weasley. That chick could have been anyone. And honestly, I always wished Harry had wound up with Luna Lovegood, and Ginny had hooked up with Neville. But regardless of how you wish the Harry Potter kids had paired off, the fact remains: the series is about HARRY POTTER.
And, like My Fair Dork, Harry Potter is all about a boy and his wand.
Okay, fine…maybe I’m taking it a bit far to read a sexual subtext into Harry Potter. And I apologize if I’ve offended anyone. But really, a wand is a symbol for power. More specifically, a symbol for channeling, controlling and amplifying one’s power.
So to say that Harry Potter, like all male coming of age stories, is about a guy and his relationship with his penis, is not completely farfetched.
Stories of boys becoming men as they grapple with their sexuality abound—some of them more obvious about the subtext than others. You have movies like American Pie, The Sure Thing, and Weird Science, where the message was crystal clear. And then there are movies where the message is more hidden—like Teen Wolf, Can’t Buy Me Love, and (the aptly and double-entendre-ly named) How to Train Your Dragon.
I’ve gotta say, my favorite of all of these was Weird Science. What a great flick that was! The message of “emerging sexuality means power, but power you must learn to control if you’re to grow into a man” was so amazingly drawn. Besides—Barbie Doll as a phallic image? WIN!
With My Fair Dork, I was faced with the challenge of making it both a love story and also a coming of age story. So my hero, Harold, must reconcile with two different lovers—Owen, his co-hero, but also his enormous penis.
See, Harold feels overwhelmed by his size, and unable to handle the power he’s got going between his legs. But in order for him to win his gentleman love, he must tame the beast. (Slay the dragon, wield his wand, draw his sword, conquer the snake… Insert euphemistic penis expression here.)
So in the end, My Fair Dork is a love story on two fronts. On the one hand, Harold falls in love with Owen. But on the other, he learns to love himself.
And in the end, that’s what a coming-of-age story is all about.
They say a guy can never be too hung. Well, Harold Jacobs doesn’t know who they are, but they’re wrong. Socially awkward for as long as he can remember, Harold feels his enormous package is just one more thing to be embarrassed about. Especially once hunky and popular
Owen McKenzie notices it in the showers.
Owen knows he’s bi, but he keeps that secret close to his chest. He likes Harold, and wants to help him shed his dorky image and maybe even find a boyfriend. Still, Owen can’t stop obsessing about Harold’s equipment. And much as he doesn’t want to flip-flop on his sexuality, Owen does want to test-drive what Harold has between his legs.
Their friendship erupts into full-blown lust. But can Owen accept the loss of his golden child status and be Harold’s boyfriend? And can Harold outgrow his insecurity in time to keep the man he loves?
“I was born in England. But I moved here when I was nine.” It had been too late to change Harold’s name to something more normal. But his mom seemed to think the move had been a good idea. She hated her ex-husband, Harold’s dad. And, apparently, she hadn’t been happy until there was an entire ocean between them.
“Wow. So you’re foreign? You don’t have an accent.” Owen sounded impressed, or maybe hopeful. Like Harold would pull out a smooth, James Bond burr and a tuxedo to match.
“I spoke with one when I first moved. But…” He shrugged. All the kids had made fun of how he talked when he started fourth grade. They thought he sounded posh. Some even said, “gay”. Harold didn’t know how an entire country—and all its former colonies—could be gay based on an accent. How would they make little baby Brits?
Of course, maybe the gay thing had bothered him more because at that age, he’d already realized he was.
“Too bad. Girls love a guy with an accent.”
Harold coughed, spraying a couple droplets of tea across his scone. He cleared his throat, trying to recover. “Don’t think we have to worry much about that.”
Owen paused his assault on his eggs and looked up. His blue bell eyes were wide and confused. “What? Why?”
It felt surprisingly good to know something Owen didn’t. But it was silly, really. Harold figured everyone knew. “I’m gay.”
“Oh.” Owen did a double take, and raked his eyes over Harold’s clothes once again.
Harold guessed that Owen had to re-arrange his opinion of Harold’s clothes now that he had to match them up with a different sexual preference.
“Wow. It’s worse than I thought.” Owen stabbed a sausage and bit off half.
“What?” Harold looked down at his shirt, wondering if he’d managed to spatter tea on himself during his sputtering. No. It was clean.
“Aren’t gay guys supposed to be all stylish and hip?” Owen smiled as he said it—making it sound like he was flirting, or at least teasing.
Harold frowned. “Of course. And we all have lisps, and tiny dogs we spoil.”
Owen’s forehead creased in the middle, as if he wasn’t sure whether Harold was joking. “Nah.” He ate the other half of his sausage, and then picked up another. “I know that’s not true.”
Good lord. Harold closed his eyes and pinched his lips together to stop himself from laughing. Owen was so…he didn’t even know how to describe it. It was an optimistic innocence Harold had heard about but never seen in real life. Maybe it was a Midwestern thing.
“This guy I knew from the football team, Tank, he’s gay. And he isn’t like that at all.” Owen thought about it for a moment, staring past Harold’s shoulder to look off into space. “Though I could see him with a dog.”
Harold wasn’t sure whether he was being serious or joking. But since Owen was so earnest most of the time, he guessed Tank guy was the kind to pamper a Chihuahua.