Review: A Tale of Two Clitties

September is the new literature!

As I mentioned earlier, this September I had the wonderful chance to edit A Tale of Two Clitties (available for Kindle on Amazon), by the amazing smut writer Antoinette M–. Here is a blog post where Antoinette brags about her dysfunctional launch and promotion process.

For you writers and storytellers—here is an article by Antoinette and me on SmutWriters Magazine: Self-Editing and Exploding Heads. It talks about the tricks and techniques I learned by editing this amazing story. The article has no nudity.

Outcome? I am now named as an editor for A Tale of Two Clitties on Amazon! That’s very flattering… but it also means I can’t really leave an unbiased 5-star review. People will read my review, look at my name on the listing, and cry foul.

Here is the review I’d leave if I could:

I’m Lindsey Flinch Bedder, the captivating author of Trapper and Emmeline — and I’m a little biased because I helped edit this story and I’m listed with the author! I was lucky enough to see the story’s gory birth, follow it through its revisions, and help it grow steadily hotter and truer to its message, until it was mature enough to get me off. (Yes, you just read that.) The message of the story is essentially this: “I am @#[email protected]# hot and you hope you can handle me.”

Even when I read it today, it throws me off balance, because Antoinette never writes the easy scenes that other writers seem to crank out. Like every good lovemaking session, this story skates a fine line between real life and imagination, and you get the best of both worlds.

Antoinette is edgy and awesome (but remember I’m biased). She writes the tough stuff and does it well. Can you like an angry, domineering sex-pot character who humiliates other women? (Can you not like that?) Can you believe a shy housewife with a mind so dirty she can make a biker gang blush? (Get ready to!) This story is packed with explicit, sweaty, hot sex in many gratifying combinations. Let’s just say the characters, by the end of the story, have been fully plumbed. (I mean, they comprehensively f**k to exhaustion.)

Like I said, I helped with the story so take all of this with a grain of salt. I love this story and I’m glad I got to be a part of it.

Trapper: Catch and Release

Alpha Male Button

Why me in fire? What this thing me holding? Bo… book? Book have food in it? Me need book to sex you? No?
Me hate book!

By this point I’ve read so much about Alpha Males, I’m dying for a nice Beta Male I can boss around. “Honey, I know you’re busy, but can you get me a coffee and paint the house?”

I wouldn’t even have to flirt! “Honey, please buy me some Woody Allen movies so I can study your species.”

Alpha Males are about more than just sex, mystery, protection, relationship insecurity. They are also about THE PRIZES!!

  • 1st Grand Prize: A Kindle Fire or Nook Tablet
  • 2nd Grand Prize: A $130 Amazon or B&N Gift Card
  • 3rd Grand Prize: The Swag Pack! (Pictured below.)
Blog Hop Swag

20 lbs of hot, pulsing romance.

Everything but the swag prize is international. To enter the grand prize drawing and my drawing, leave your email in the comments! Enter once on each blog! You can enter 200 times! That’s a lot of Alpha, but you look like you can handle it. Wink.

My prize drawing

I have an odd erotic romance book, Trapper and Emmeline, in which two college students, crazy-deep in lust, invent a new way to be in love. Trapper wants the world to know how amazing Emmeline is, so he shares her! He encourages Emmeline to go on dates with other guys!

Ladies, think how horrible it would be if your husband suggested that kind of date night! The husband stays home and takes care of the kids. You go out to dinner with some alluring, sexy man and hone your skills of attraction and flirtation. Sounds terrible, right? (Of course, in Trapper and Emmeline, Trapper pushes Emmeline too far, and Emmeline surprises herself by going even further… and it throws their sweet-but-sordid romance into jeopardy.)

Comment topic: Do you want your Significant Other to institute a date night? On the last Friday of each month, you have permission to go out on a real live date and work the singles scene again! What if you can’t find a date? He (or she) will set you up with a friend. Would you do this? Could you do this? Hot? Not? Just plain weird?  

One print copy of the book goes to the hottest/funniest comment. Another goes to a randomly selected topic. Remember to leave your email! (If you don’t want a print copy, I can send a PDF or Paypal $7 so you can get a different ebook.)

In this excerpt from Trapper and Emmeline, alpha Trapper personally sees another Alpha make a play on Emmeline. You’d think this would make Trapper and Emmeline uncomfortable, but no, they’re too weird:

He’s a recovering good guy. She’s maxing life on borrowed time.

The next day, we went to the Student Union for cokes. Emmeline was wearing a short, flower-print dress with leather shoes, and looking quite enticing about it. As I studied her shape inside her translucent dress, a hand came sliding around her waist.

The hand, flat-palmed on my girlfriend’s body, went on a journey across her torso, catching a stupefying feel along the way. It came to rest on her stomach, a little below her belly button.

My dick was hard enough hammer out dents in cars.

I tracked the hand back to a young, Jersey-looking guy with an open collar and gold chains around his neck. His face was mere inches away from hers, and his toothsome smile made me think of a man-eating shark.

“Emmeline,” he said, “have you given any thought about tonight? Or tomorrow night? Or the night after? Or ever?”

“I’ll tell you later,” she said. “This is Trapper, my boyfriend.”

“Oh, hey,” he said, backing off. He met my eyes with a hard stare, as if I wanted to steal his food.

“Hi!” I held out my hand, and he took it, suspicious.

Emmeline said, “Trapper, this is my friend from class. He wants to take me out to dinner.”

I smiled at him. “Just make sure it’s a nice place. Emmeline deserves the best.”

He nodded uncertainly. He was, obviously and reasonably, confused by Emmeline and me.

“Sure, ‘Trapper.’” 

“See you later, sweetie,” Emmeline said, and kissed him.

As he walked away, she said, “Sorry about that.”

“No big,” I said, wrapping my hands around her shoulders. A pre-Emmeline Trapper would have felt a little hurt at being dismissed; new-Trapper didn’t actually give a shit about testosterone-ridden, socially inept Jersey kids. “Did you notice how he just grabbed your stomach, rather than saying hi?”

“He always does that. I think he has a thing for my tummy.”

“You should wear a crop-top for him, or a half-shirt. So that next time, he will get a hand full of skin.” She looked thoughtful at that, and didn’t answer. I realized why: She liked him! Him! There was no accounting for taste. “Are you planning to go out with him?”

She looked uncomfortable. This boy was the first of her potential dates that I’d actually met.

“It’s still early in the week, Trap. For my first date, I want something… less unambiguous than a dinner date. Like an innocent study session. With him, it would not be innocent at all. He would jump me like a turnstile.” Her eyes fluttered to mine, shy. “Still, I’m curious about him. He wears more jewelry than I do. We would make one blinged-out pair.”

“Keep me informed,” I said. “I like how guys are just grabbing you before they say hello.”

She laughed. “I think they do that if they can’t remember my name in time.”

“We are one weird couple.”

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What my Halloween costume must do

Usually my Septembers are a long, frantic search through local goodwill stores for fun, slutty Halloween costumes. It’s never easy. Although I have some decent boom-boom to work with, the costume has a lot of responsibilities. It must be (1) proper for my (very judgmental) office, (2) risqué so I can show off during trick-or-treating, and (3) completely inappropriate for my Dear Husband’s office party.

I could simply have three different costumes, but then I’d have to start my costume hunt in July. That would not work. In July, everybody is thinking about fireworks and flags. Then Lindsey strides into the store in full consumer mode, tweaking on credit cards, demanding to see whatever they have in Sexy Pollster costumes (it’s election year, ya’ll).

Crickets. Nothing but blank looks.


I usually end up with DIY costumes. Excuse me, fish. You’re relaxing in what will soon be my highly inappropriate “Sexy Fisherwoman” skirt. (Note to self: I need to work it like that fish.) Image Copyright Colynn @ 

“Fine,” I sigh. “Slutty nurse? Mormon Plural Wife? Pirate whore? Insecure cheerleader? Castaway Stewardess? Glory hole attendant?”

“Ma’am, if those are costumes, you won’t find them at Home Depot.”

“Again!? I’m always doing this!”

“I know, Ma’am.”

*Backs away slowly. Screams “fishnet” and runs for the door.*

*Crashes into line of shopping carts.*

*Limps to an entrance door that doesn’t open. Pretends to study a gum ball machine.*

Not that any of this fully-imagined scene really happened. Nope.

The costume must must
de-emphasize both my
waistline and my desperation.

Lamp Shade

Oh, you lampshade, you. Get on my head already. We have humiliating memories to create!
(Image Copyright Molly DG @

My single, hardworking Halloween costume has to play up my strengths—namely a bust line that always wants to escape the tethers of clothing, and an ass I won’t joke about because I don’t want to jinx it. The costume must also must de-emphasize both my waistline and my desperation.

What’s more, while I have a loose reputation to maintain with my DH’s co-workers, I don’t want my DH face-palming as I swan around full of spiked punch. I want to see pride, not remorse, on his face. Finally, the office wives have to give me annoyed, brittle smiles when their husbands laugh too loudly at my jokes. (You see, the more I drink, the funnier I get.)

The Halloween  Party is a tough needle to thread. DH has learned to stay sober because I will end up trying to exhibit my crotch tattoo (I don’t have one). I have to remember that sleeping with his boss for a promotion is my dream, not DH’s.

That’s the thumbnail sketch of my regular September: ADHD impulse-buying of slutty clothes that encourage risky behavior and facilitate future bad decision-making. —I’m kidding, ya’ll. That’s just one side of Lindsey. That’s “Night Lindsey.” The other side of Lindsey is a loving, patient mommy with deep cleavage. I simply like to exaggerate for fun. (e.g., I’m not patient.)

Where was I? Oh yeah. This wasn’t a regular September.

This September, I had the wonderful chance to line-edit and beta-read A Tale of Two Clitties by the audacious Antoinette M—.  Stay tuned for the review in a  few days. The tl:dr of the review is this: Hop right to A Tale of Two Clitties and get the sample. It’s awweeesome.