Author bio:
Amber Lloyd is my pen name but for me it's much more than that. It's often hard to separate the author Amber Lloyd from the character I write about in my books. My life is so different from Amber's that when I was asked to produce a Bio for my books I was torn between the one I created for my alter ego and my real life. When I compared the two I realized that no one would be the least bit interested in the one over the other so I wrote what you see below. I will let you decide which one you think I chose. I was born and raised in a small town in upstate New York called Monticello. It's mostly a farm community and if you didn't know the true latitude, you would think you were somewhere in the deep south. The city is a bastion of country western music complete with men in cowboy hats and women wearing jeans and shit kicking boots.
I was a gawky kid who loved climbing trees and riding horses. My parents were not country people. They lived in the city and worked as marketing specialists. My dad groomed me to join them in their business and convinced me to pursue a college course that would introduce me to the world of marketing. They wanted me to stay close by and apply to SUNY at New Paltz but I had a different idea. I chose the only college a good distance away from Hee Haw New York that would accept my less than stellar high school grades and SAT scores.
The College I chose was in Kansas where I met my husband. Ron was a year ahead of me and when he graduated, he convinced me to move to Oklahoma and become his wife. The marriage didn't work out for either of us. Unlike the character in my book, Ron is a good guy, but I don't think I ever loved him. We had very different ideas about life and love and it was more my faults and issues than his that destroyed our relationship.
My move to Florida was not as much an escape as a running home to my parents who had moved from New York to Clearwater. My tom-boy youth took over and I got a job as a deputy Sheriff. I lived with my parents for several years until I could get my own place. I manage to sprinkle some of my law enforcement experience into my books and base some of my characters on people I met or had to deal with on the job. My descriptions of Amber's escape and the rest of the story is my fictional account of what I imagined would have happened if I was her, but alas I am me, and all I get to do is write about her exciting life as the House Mother.
You can find me at: http://amberlloyd.com
GUEST POST:
The Importance of Friendship
Real friendships are rare and require commitment and responsibility to
maintain. My character Amber Lloyd never had a real friend before she met
Sheila, the high-priced madam, who resides in her building. They became friends
almost immediately for a number of reasons related to their circumstances. Both
women are viewed with scorn in the building occupied mostly by older wealthy
residents. Sheila is attractive in her early forties and dresses well when she
goes out but often dresses inappropriately in the building.
The building has its gossip mavens who are
always looking down their noses at what Sheila and Amber are doing. Sheila
helps Amber negotiate the complexities of living in the upscale building, but
her motivation for helping Amber is in question. Sheila may want more than
friendship and tries to seduce Amber into a lesbian relationship.
Their friendship grows because they are co-conspirators
of sorts, partners in a world of sex that only they can define. Amber doesn't
know how she feels about Sheila's sexual advances, but somehow it doesn't
matter. There is no reason to put a name to their friendship. No reason to
secure their relationship into its proper sexual box. It simply is what it is
and all that matters is that it continues to give both women what they need.
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Blurb:
All Amber Lloyd wanted was a new start. With her abusive ex-husband a thing of the past and a modest divorce settlement in the bank, the future looked hopeful. But as Amber quickly finds out, a young woman making it alone in a new city is much more expensive than she initially thought, and with no work experience, her options are limited. When an unusual job offer presents itself, Amber is hesitant, but her financial situation leaves her with few other choices.
Amber soon finds herself living the life of luxury as House Mother to five middle-aged men, but what initially seemed to be a straightforward contract turns out to be more complicated than she bargained for as each of the men comes with his own set of sexual problems. Is Amber in over her head or has she found her true calling?
House Mother is a crazy ride into the world of sexual dysfunction told first-person by a woman with compassion and empathy for her clients. Some are more damaged than others, but they all have one thing in common - they all need the unique services provided by the House Mother.
“Stick with me, girl. I’ll help you put some sting in that already deadly bod of yours. Work out with me a few weeks and watch them muscles pop.”
“I’d like that. When do you usually come here?”
“You tell me and we’ll make it our thing.”
“Is ten o’clock good for you?” I said as I grabbed an over-sized towel and wrapped it around my body. Sheila remained naked.
“Ten is good,” she said. “Let’s hit the steam room.” She took my hand and walked me to the stainless steel door with its fogged up window. Inside she took a ladle, dipped it into the water trough and poured it over the large round rocks in the corner of the room. The steam rose quickly, and in minutes I couldn’t see the nose in front of my face. “You won’t need this in here,” she said, taking the suddenly heavy towel from me and tossing it into the fog. Sheila guided me with her arm around my waist to a low bench. She had me sit, then sat next to me so close her right leg and buttocks were pressing against mine. I felt her hand on my breast.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Just seeing what we have to work with. Your breasts are nice and firm,” she said as she continued to massage them. She teased my nipples, and I knew she wasn’t checking my fat content.
“I like men,” I said. “I mean I’ve never…”
She stopped me. “I like men too. I wouldn’t be in the business I’m in if I didn’t like men. I also like women. The way I figure it, I like sex, and it’s a shame to discount half the population because the plumbing is wrong.”
“I don’t think I can. I mean.”
“Does this feel good?” she said as she went to my left breast and suckled it gently. I had to admit she knew what she was doing. Her hand dropped to my vagina and her fingers found my opening. It felt weird to have another woman touch me like this but I had to admit what she was doing was getting me very excited. Sheila let go my breast and came up to my mouth and kissed me deeply. Her kiss was warm and animated, and I was unable to do anything but let her take my mouth. Meanwhile her hand was working my clitoris so well she had me close to orgasm. I was about to come when she said, “Should I stop?” She knew she had taken me beyond the point of no return. She knew I needed to complete what she had started. I didn’t answer, and she went back down to my left breast as her busy fingers did their magic on my engorged clit. I felt myself climbing toward an explosive finish when the steam room door opened and someone came in.
“Let it go,” she whispered. I had no choice, but holding my scream was difficult, almost painful. The door opened again, and I saw the shadow of whoever it was leave. I let out a gasp as Sheila continued to do a number on me with her mouth on my breast and fingers in my very wet center. When she knew I was done, she put her sloppy fingers to her lips and came close enough for me to see. She said, “You taste delicious,” as she slipped them into her mouth and sucked.
“I think I should go,” I said.
“Look, I get it. You’re not into women. It’s okay. I promise I won’t try to seduce you again, but I’d like us to be friends. If I mind my manners, can we be friends?” She asked.
“I’d like that,” I said, meaning it. I haven’t had a best friend since high school and living alone here has been hard without someone to talk to. I knew I didn’t have to worry about telling Sheila anything I needed to get off my chest. I even thought maybe she could help me with some of my guy problems, her being in the business and all.
“Good,” she said. “Tomorrow at ten.”
Buy links:
Barnes and Noble:
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/house-mother-amber-lloyd/1131079636?ean=9781910908372
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