Help me welcome the lovely Vastine Bondurant to my little gin mill. The sweet patootie will be discussing her recent release – PURLY GATES.
Love that title and the cover, it’s aces.
Now, Dish, share with us a bit about yourself before I give you wine and pump you for information. Okay, don’t blow your wig, I meant to say before we begin the interview. Oh, sugar, this really DOES feel like a gin mill! And, of course, I’ve GOT to say, ‘Of all the joints in all the world….”
Want to know something about me? The best way I can describe myself is that I’m a vintage person. My heart and soul are at home in some era of the past. You know the song ‘Lost in the Fifties’? Well, Vastine is lost somewhere between the 20’s, 30’s and 40’s.
I do write contemporary romance (both m/m and m/f), but my passion is vintage romance/mainstream. Bad boys in overcoats and fedoras. Gals in seamed stockings and sexy kick pleats.
Let’s shake a leg and get on to the grilling. What do you come up with first in starting a story: Title? Characters? Plot? Setting? Conflict? First? Usually characters. Setting. Plot. Conflict. Title. In that order. Oddly, with Purly Gates, I came up with the title first. A co-worker told me about his grandfather whose name was Purlman. I loved that name. Purlman…Purly…So…well…the rest is easy to figure out.
What's your inspiration? What isn’t? Every little thing. Mostly music, I think. It usually always starts with a song, a tune.
What drives you as a writer? I’ve never stopped to think what exactly drives me. Like most writers, I suppose it’s all those voices in my head. You know the types. The never stop.
How long have you been writing? Since I was a little girl. Before I actually thought of writing stories, I drew cartoon style scenarios, complete with plots and dialogue bubbles. Seriously began writing about three years ago.
What genre do you mostly write? A genre you wouldn’t write? Why? Is there some topic you can’t wait to sink your teeth into? I write m/m romance and am getting ready to start writing m/f mainstream. I say mainstream because my m/f stories just never seem to be romances, but stories about fellas who happen to have dames in their lives.
Some might call you an old-fashioned babe because you have a fascination with the 1930s, 40s, and before, which is reflected on your Facebook page and your blog. When did this start? If I remember correctly PURLY GATES was set in the 1930s. What’s the scoop, Doll? I think back, back, back and cannot come up with a beginning for my fascination with these eras. It’s just…IN me, if that makes sense. Probably, if I had to pin it down, it started with my love of photos of my parents during their youth—the depression, WWII. Who knows? I like to think I had past lives in these eras and that’s why they are so real to me.
Authors have their ups and downs—publisher conflicts, dry spells, real life drama—has there ever been a moment when you stepped back and thought “why in the hell am I doing this’? Since we’re having this interview, we know you worked out the problem, how did you get past it? Oh, yes, yes. All the time. In fact, I’ve hit a frustration point with my current WIP. Having to walk away from it, get my noodle together and take a breather from it. I’m a slow, slow writer and I hit more roadblocks than I care to. To get past it, I just stop. Listen. A veteran author suggested once to stop for a bit and let the characters hang out alone in my head, just them. And that seems to work. Just let them BE.
What was the best writing advice someone gave you? To write as though no one but me was ever going to read what I wrote. Just to…write. I’m amazed how successful this is. How much freedom I feel when I pretend I’m only writing for me, and only me. So much more uninhibited.
What great advice. Any WIP? Care to share? I don’t often share my WIP’s. I can at least tell you the most current is m/m.
Before we are called to the PURLY GATES or as they say, get the kiss off, how about an excerpt from your recent release and include your links so we can find you and your work?
Purly’s body felt so right. Warm. Strong. But it was a strength that couldn’t, even if it wanted to, hide its gentle core.
At first Purly stiffened with Lucky’s sudden move to lay against him but, after only a moment, he sighed and wrapped both arms about Lucky and pulled him closer.
Melted so comfortably, so safe, with the surprisingly smooth lines of the man’s body, Lucky realized he wanted—really wanted—this man. Oddly, not only to fuck but to…love? That seemed impossible, yet no other emotion fit the perfect light spreading through his veins at the sound of the even breathing and the steady, robust heartbeat. At the peace in being circled by the man’s embrace.
And, although a very hard-to-ignore erection rested just beneath Lucky’s arm, it touched him that Purly hadn’t made an advance to relieve it. The gentlemanly abstinence did touch Lucky, but it didn’t curb his own desire.
Purposely he pressed his arm a bit more firmly into the tempting hard-on and murmured, “Your music has stopped.”
A delicate chuckle rumbled from Purly’s chest to Lucky’s cheek. “It stopped a long time ago.”
“Hmm.” Shifting in Purly’s arms to intentionally touch his lips to the pulse at the man’s neck, Lucky sighed. “Will you play it again for me?’
The pulse accelerated beneath his lips, the strength of it—so virile, so primal—aroused Lucky.
He unwrapped his arms about Purly’s waist to allow him to rise from the divan and hungrily followed his stride to the phonograph.
Damn, those muscles—the arms, the thighs, the back, the ass—captured in the subtle glow from the lamp.
Lucky stared, devouring every detail of Purly’s body as the man wound the crank on the phonograph and lovingly placed the needle on the shiny black disk.
Purly ambled to the kitchen table, pulled a Chesterfield from its pack and lit it.
His muscles showcased in the pale light teased Lucky’s desire to an unbearable level.
He would make the first move.
Just as Purly turned and made a step to cross the room, Lucky stood and shrugged out of his shirt, allowing it to drop to the floor.
Purly stopped, clearly surprised. Hesitance registered in the dark eyes, but only for a moment as though he’d merely resisted for want of an invitation.
That passionate, brooding piano melody filled the room, stroked Lucky’s senses, taunted him.
Cupping his cock, he fondled the increasing stiffness through the fabric of his trousers.
Purly said nothing, only watched while taking a long drag on the cigarette.
After slowly blowing the smoke into the air, he returned the cigarette to the ashtray. “Lucky, after what’s happened to you...”
A slight, almost indiscernible quaver in the soft, satiny voice was the first sign of any nervousness from Purly.
Lucky smiled. “This is what I came here for.” While his stare locked with the onyx one, Lucky unfastened the belt then the trousers and wriggled out of them. They slid to the floor in a cloud of soft white at his feet.
Under the black gaze, Lucky trembled and smoothed his palms over his chest, lingering over the sensitive flesh of his nipples, kneading the hard buds between his fingers. The exquisite pressure increased in his balls, and he slid his fingers along the line of his belly to his cock. Wrapping it in his fist, he slowly stroked the warm shaft and moaned almost under his breath, “Please.”
He shook, every inch of him—scared, excited, ready—when Purly approached with the purpose and sensual sway of a huge cat that, having found its prey, was going to consume it.
Lucky headed for the small bedroom, the glorious beast following close and quiet.
Sinking onto the bed and reposing on the cool, rumpled covers, Lucky spread his legs and arched his body while massaging his aching erection. “I…want to see you.”
Purly straightened and tugged at the hem of his undershirt, pulled it over his head and dropped it to the floor. Without shifting his gaze from Lucky, he slid the white shorts along his hips and down his legs then stepped out of them.
Glorious. The solid physique of a gladiator, a prizefighter with pride in his posture, pumped for the match. Compact yet perfect proportioning from the imposing chest and shoulders, the tightly chiseled abdomen to the narrow hips.
Purly rested his palm on Lucky’s belly, caressed the lines of it with the awed but unsure touch of one daring to graze a master’s painting. “You are so beautiful.” Yet the words were a kiss, not a condemnation or a curse as it had seemed with Lionel. “But, Lucky, after what you’ve been through—”
“Please.” Reveling in the tiny spears of fire teasing his skin and the wonderful heaviness in his groin, Lucky arched his body into the warm, exploring palms. “I told you. This is what I want.” What I need, what I need so badly. Clutching Purly’s hand and squeezing his fingers, Lucky pleaded. “Please. Oh, God, please don’t be afraid to touch me.” And, until that very moment, Lucky hadn’t realized just what he did seek from this man. “Please make Lionel go away.”