Goddesses rule! after a feisty fightback.
Connie Grimshaw gets herself in a mess, by playing sex-games in book 1 of Goddesses. She gets herself out again by fighting the bad boys in book 2.
Here is an excerpt, where she and her lover try to work through an Aubrey Beardsley moment. They play Venus and her goat. Tannhäuser looks on.
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OK! If you have read Beardsley, you will know he had Venus fooling with a unicorn, but this isn’t a story about things going to plan. Our protagonists have to make do with a goat.
And things didn’t go to plan for some of my beta-readers. One complained of needing cold showers, the other dropped his tablet in the bath and couldn’t continue until it was fixed.
Connie is considering her options.
I have a great idea for our next interlude. I think it exceeds De La Pine in the gallery at Kew. Unfortunately, I need a unicorn’s suit – as a fancy dress, that is. I’ve spent most of this morning phoning round hire shops. Dianne has been hovering, bursting pipes to find out what I’m up to. I had to remind her that I would answer all on Saturday. She was doubtful. She expects a rebuff when she asks the awkward questions. I told her to do some work. Someone has to. I had phone calls to make.
‘I may be able to help,’ says a man at Silly Suits, of Tooting Bec. ‘I have a goat suit – you know – symbol of raunchiness.’
‘Have you ever observed goats?’ I ask.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Last summer, while I was on holiday, I cycled past a field. I had to stop. Two bucks trying to beat each other’s brains out.’
‘That’s what I mean.’
‘There were three girls in the field.’
‘You mean does,’ he interrupted.
‘They were women. While the guys were trying to kill each other, the lasses were eating furiously. Their body language said, Let’s get a good meal in before things kick off. “Generative power.” What nonesense? Self-preservation I’d call it!’
‘Whatever. Do you want a goat suit?’
I state the obvious.
‘A goat is not a unicorn.’
‘It is if you screw the detachable horn on to the middle of the head and remove the billy-goat hooks over his ears.’
‘Frankly, I’m a bit disappointed my unicorn is to be a converted goat. Doesn’t have the savoir faire, does it?’
‘What? Do you want it or not?’
‘Of course I do. How does it work? It is for a man, probably six foot.’
‘The belly is open. He’ll need to wear swimming trunks or die of heat exhaustion. He wears it like a cape, I suppose.’
‘Excellent. What time do you shut?’
‘Late, madam. We do most of our business around nine in the evening.’
I got off the train at Tooting Bec and found Silly Suits. He handed a huge carrier over to me.
‘I hadn’t realised how heavy a goat would be.’
‘Be glad you are not wearing it. I couldn’t find the unicorn screw-in horn so I’ve left it as a goat. That’s okay, isn’t it?’
‘I suppose it will have to be,’ I sigh. ‘So long as the goat is horny.’
He looked up. I blushed. Why did I just say that? My sex life with a goat has nothing to do with him. I changed the subject.
‘How clean is the goat thing? I mean, if he’s in his swimmies, it mustn’t be too full of previous sweat and so …’