Sunday, 14 January 2018

At the Beach with Bev and Carol


Bev and Carol are graduates, spending three months in France as part of their degree course.  They are young and frivolous, unfettered by preconceptions or mortgage payments. Bev is bookish, a bit of a dreamer, and Carol is down-to-earth, unafraid to say what she thinks.  In this (exceptionally frank) excerpt, they experience the challenges of their very first nudist beach.








‘Does ‘Naturiste’ mean what I think it means?’ asked Carol, standing in front of a very large sign with a very large arrow on it.

I wasn’t sure, but I thought so.

‘I don’t mind getting my baps out if you don’t!’  she reasoned.

The beach was coming up fast and we clutched at each other, controlling our giggles as best we could.  We might have made it, had we not heard men’s voices behind us and looked round to see two bronzed gods swinging up fast.

‘Christ on a bike!’ said Carol, stepping aside and staring rudely.

‘Guten Tag!’ 

Please don’t stop and have a conversation with us!  I thought.

They passed in front of us and we watched their perfect asses for a while, breathing in for what seemed to be a very long time and, eventually, remembering to breathe out.

‘Did you see the size of his cock?’ asked my gobsmacked friend.

 ‘Well, yes.  I didn’t have much choice in the matter, did I?’

‘Come on!  There must be loads more on the beach…’

 I wasn’t sure that I fancied the idea of so much nudity all in one place, but I had never sunbathed topless before, so I was keen to give it a go in an environment where one extra set of, admittedly, perfect breasts would not cause too much of a stir.

To my horror, Carol was untying her bikini top before we even got there and soon it was difficult for me to concentrate on what she was saying as I felt a little sea-sick in the face of so much uncontrolled bouncing.

‘God!  Your tits are enormous!’ I said.

‘Pretty good, eh?  Aren’t you getting yours out?’ 

'All in good time, all in good time, my little Devonshire divvy,' I said.

It was a beautiful beach and there were a fair number of people, mostly couples or small groups, generally without a stitch on.  This was a whole new experience for me.  The German gods we had come across on the path had set up camp near the sea and looked over to us, waving.  Carol was all for joining them, but I suggested that we should keep our options open for the time being, not mentioning that I was rather uneasy about diving into a conversation with a couple of blokes with their willies out.

So we put our towels out about thirty feet from the dunes and sat down.  It wasn’t that easy pretending that it was perfectly normal to be sitting with a load of people we’d never met before who seemed very pleased to see us.  I was aware of my breasts in a way that I had never been aware of them before.  I wished they would just shut up (metaphorically speaking) instead of pertly announcing themselves to all and sundry.

‘Shall we whip off our pants, too?’ said Carol, as she was actually whipping off her bikini bottoms.

‘Really?’ I replied, ‘I don’t know whether-’

‘Don’t be such a prude!  No other bugger’s wearing any.’

She was right.  So I did.

Having no clothes on in public was an altogether liberating experience.  I got used to it quickly and was soon stretching out in various poses, sighing nonchalantly and acting as though it was all terribly normal.  I got out my latest find and started to read. I had brought l’Etranger to the beach and made sure that the cover of the book was visible to others as I read. In those days I was deeply proud of my literary pretensions.  I breathed in the ozone and tried to remember what my French tutor had said about Camus, but I kept hearing the Cure singing ‘Killing an Arab’ instead.

Sunday, 7 January 2018

Goodreads Giveaway now ended. Winner announced. Book in the post!



Goodreads Book Giveaway

Stranded in the Seychelles by Bev Spicer

Stranded in the Seychelles

by Bev Spicer

Giveaway ends January 11, 2018.
See the giveaway details at Goodreads.
Enter Giveaway

Thursday, 4 January 2018

My French Life



Dear Readers,

Happy New Year!

And thank goodness Christmas is over.  Not that I didn’t enjoy it at the time, but sherry trifle and meringues and cream can do a lot of damage!

With storm Carmen lingering, I think this has been one of the worst bits of weather we’ve had here in Charente Maritime for quite a while.  Didn’t stop me getting out there, though.  I’ve cleaned my boots at least three times, dried out numerous coats, hats and scarves most indecorously on radiators and had the tumble dryer going for hours at a time.  Still the rain comes down and the wind whistles.

It’s nice to spend more time writing, as things return to normal.  I’m heavily into a second edit of my Alice Candy novel (Book Two), which is covered with notes and suggestions from my tireless and shrewd editor, who cares about my book more than my sensibilities (thank goodness).  Everything makes more sense when I read her comments.  And, slowly but surely, I see my manuscript turning into something more like a ‘finished’ book.  I still have no title or cover – the most frustrating jobs for me.  Really impossible.  I have a wonderful professional cover designer to produce the artwork, but it’s my job to provide ideas.  A big font, a catchy title and a couple of shiny symbols: a country house, a painting, a speeding car.  How to show the reader what kind of book it is, without ending up with a cliché?

It can wait a while longer.

The interior has me hooked for the time being.

In the meantime, there are distractions: a trip abroad for one son during his gap year, driving lessons for another and a wedding day to help plan for my daughter.  All thrilling in different ways.  And expensive!  Looks as though we’ll be in thrift mode for a while, which I kind of welcome after the excesses of the past weeks.

Happy Days!

Monday, 1 January 2018

Fun with Bev and Carol - Promotion now ENDED!

Just to let you know I'm running a price promotion on all my humorous memoirs beginning on November 28th for three - seven days (depending on the ebook).  At the bottom of this post I've included a short extract from Bunny on a Bike so you can see whether you empathise with a rather easily distracted Bev as she undergoes a particularly challenging test to become a Playboy croupier.

There are four books in the Bev and Carol series (all but one are available in paperback too):


                                                         




                                                                                                                     

                                                                                        







Here's the extract, where Bev and Carol take the second maths test included in the Playboy selection process:

More Maths (this time, ‘mental’)


Keith was right, there was more to come.

‘Please record your answers on the paper provided, clearly numbered and legibly written.  Take care to keep to the correct numbering.  You will hear the questions once and have ten seconds to calculate and note down your answer.’
We had made it through to the final hurdle.  There were twenty-seven of us left, which meant that seven of us would not get a job, according to a girl called Desdemona, who, apparently, hadn’t heard of a ‘geezer’ called Shakespeare.
Suddenly maths seemed more important.  I had scored ninety-five on the written maths test, one more than Carol. Result!  Keith had got eighty-three.

We were spaced out, spatially speaking, so that copying would be impossible this time, and I knew that I was on my own.  In some twisted way, this was invigorating as I felt, unjustifiably, that I was up to the challenge. I flexed my mental muscles and took a deep breath – oxygen to the brain, in lieu of a gin and tonic - memories of my French Oral exam at ‘O’ level came flooding back.  Carol gave me a look that said, ‘You have a bogey on the end of your nose.’  And I stared back with a, ‘Your right boob is more droopy than your left one.’  We were as relaxed as we could be under the circumstances and ready for the first question.

‘Question one.  Seven times nine?’
The numbers fed into my brain and it spoke to me: Easy peasy.  Ten sevens are seventy, less seven, means nine sevens are sixty-three.  It appeared that I had forgotten my nine times table.  Oh well, never mind.
‘Question two.  Eleven times thirteen?’
Bit more tricky. Ten thirteens are one hundred and thirty, plus thirteen, makes one hundred and forty-three.  Thank you brain. And so it went on.  After a few minutes, I heard a soft blubbing noise behind me, and Desdemona was led away by one of the assistants. One down, six to go.   I looked over to where Keith was sitting and he winked at me.  I stuck out my tongue and smiled broadly, waiting for the test to continue.