Hi, Kat and thanks for letting us have the run of your place for this interview today. Right now I’m sitting across from Yves Santiago of In Her Closet fame. Yves and I know each other fairly well but, I wanted to give everyone else an opportunity to get to know her.
YS: *waves* Hi everyone!
TH: Let’s start off with the one question everyone wants to ask: Why do you consider yourself a “self-proclaimed slut?”
YS: Well, it’s simple really. Our culture is so screwed up about sex. Women can’t seem to claim their sexuality--the one and only thing we truly own--without being painted with the slut brush. I decided to own the word and by owning it, turn into to something positive.
TH: *nodding* That’s all very noble but, do you really believe it?
YS: *laughing* Most of the time. But I’ve gotten pretty good at faking it.
TH: So would you consider yourself a feminist?
YS: Of course. I mean, I’m no man-hater but, I find something liberating in exploring my sexuality in this way. Sure it’s a bit aggressive and I’m a bit cruel at times but, it’s no different than what men have been doing since the dawn of time.
TH: So it’s a competition of sorts? An anything-you-can-do-I-can-do-better sort of thing?
YS: Not really. I just want to live my life in the way that I want and not according to someone else’s expectations. Do what makes me happy.
TH: And you don’t think you can be happy in love?
YS: Eventually but, this is working for me right now.
TH: Don’t you think that will be a bit off-putting for people who are just getting to know you?
YS: I’m sure it is. I’m acquired taste. I don’t trust people easily and it might take a while for me to let people in but, if they are someone worth knowing, they will make it through my tough exterior.
TH: What Elijah calls your hard candy shell.
YS: *blushing* Yes.
TH: Tell us about Elijah.
YS: *a bright smile spreads across her face* Well, Elijah’s a dreamboat.
TH: And is he someone that you could fall in love with?
YS: *laughing* No comment.
TH: Well, is he someone you would consider--
YS: No. Comment.
TH: Well, thank you so much for answering these questions for me.
YS: No problem, T. I hope that it will help your readers understand me a bit better.
TH: I hope so, too.
The Yves Santiago Story, In Her Closet is available at Amazon, Smashwords and Barnes and Noble. Visit www.dirtyscribbler.com to read excerpts and don’t forget to comment to enter the drawing for a Kindle!
Fresh off of a night of anonymous sex we join Yves Santiago on the curb for a cigarette. Yves is a self-proclaimed slut who vows to live her life as carelessly as a man and make no apologies for any of it--though her meddling mother and ex-fiancé seem intent on making it difficult for her to do so. She’s determined to avoid anything that looks even remotely like love and escapes most encounters with her heart and her pride intact.
Then she meets Elijah Weinstein…
Elijah saunters in like a dream proclaiming to be the next great love of her life--a declaration that Yves finds ridiculous, though it doesn't make him any less enticing. With his mossy green eyes, broad, sun-kissed shoulders and a mouth so sensual that it should have an NC-17 rating, Elijah Weinstein is damn near irresistible. She willingly accepts his challenge, certain she will be able to get what she wants without relinquishing her heart.
I dress casually for my evening at the Erotic Literary Salon. I’m excited about this meeting with Elijah Weinstein but, I don’t want to make too big a deal of it. I don’t believe in fairy tales, romantic or otherwise, so I’m always careful not to get my hopes too high. So in my favorite Bob Marley t-shirt and yummy ripped jeans, I sit down at my usual table and settle in to listen to the poets and wordsmiths until it’s my turn to take the stage.
I have no idea what Elijah Weinstein looks like. He told me that he would be wearing a green polo shirt. I scan the room but, I don’t see a Jewish guy in a green polo shirt. He’s late or maybe he just changed his mind all together.
“Now calling the poet Yves Santiago.”
I wipe my sweaty hands on my jeans and make my way to the stage. Reading my poetry in front of a crowd still makes me nervous even though I’ve been doing it for years.
“Good evening,” My voice bounces off the back wall and I hate the way it sounds when it makes its way back to me. Any other time I fancy that it sounds deep and sultry but, up here it sounds high and nervous.
“This is more of a ramble than a poem. I call it ‘Sleek and Tawny’.”
I clear my throat, close my eyes and take a deep cleansing breath.
“She’s lost all the parts of her that were pretty.
Her shine and nubile beauty wore off long ago.
Rubbed off--rubbed raw by men.
She’s nothing sweet anymore.
She’s something feral,
Sleek and tawny, un animal.
Something constantly in search of something--
someone to devour.
She sees her prey and when he passes her way
the scent of him enlivens her.
She pursues him because in this moment, he
is what she needs.
What she hungers for.
That tender morsel she draws across her teeth
But when her passion is spent
she remains discontent
until a hint of some other succulent scent
rattles her cage.”
I open my eyes. A wave of satisfaction washes over me from the appreciative smiles of the crowd. “Thank you,” I murmur, backing away from the microphone to a chorus of whoops and applause.
A man approaches me as I walk back to my table. Mmm, tasty, I think as he offers me a smile.
“I’m Elijah Weinstein.”
I can barely able to keep my mouth from dropping open. This is Elijah Weinstein? Elijah Weinstein is gorgeous. Fuck gorgeous. He is damn fine. He reaches for my hand and shakes it, holding on for far longer than is necessary for a greeting. Our hands sway gently between us--a frizzle of friction forming between our palms.
“Nice to meet you,” I sigh, trying my best to keep from licking my lips.