Carnal Theory Henry Corrigan

Carnal Theory

by Henry Corrigan

Blurb:
Dr. Elizabeth Spencer has a theory about sex.
As Northeastern State University’s leading behavioral researcher, the beautiful yet guarded doctor believes that lifelong satisfaction is no longer a couple’s only game.

After being left to her own devices thanks to years of disappointment, Spencer sets out to put her theory to the test. But when she meets her subject, the handsome, stubborn and unpredictable Dr. Michael Aaronson, more than just the science begins to go awry.

As their sessions together heat up, and the two find themselves more and more on common ground, a sudden betrayal puts the entire project and their careers in jeopardy. Thrust into the national spotlight with questions flying on all sides, Spencer and Aaronson must face not only an uncertain future, but their own pasts as well.

Will Spencer lose everything she set out to prove? Or will she finally find the satisfaction she’s been looking for all her life?

People come to erotica for the heat, but they stay for the heart.

Buy Link: 

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00YZ0M09U

Author Bio:

Henry started writing erotica for the same reason that gets most people into trouble; Because of girl. He writes contemporary erotic fiction, romance and speculative erotica as well. His stories focus on the bonds of love, friendship and marriage and he believes it is the heart, the love that grows between characters, which brings readers back for more. Henry was born and raised in Long Island, New York. His story Absence on Film, was published by Coming Together in 2015.

For more from Henry, you can check out his blog, or find him on Facebook and Twitter.

henrycorrigan.blogspot.com
Twitter: @HenryCorrigan
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/henry.corrigan.35

Prologue

In the Language Arts building of Northeastern State University, Professor George Conklin sat behind his desk and stared at what he'd come to think of as the greatest enigma of his career.

The enigma stared back at him quietly, eyes steady and calculating. Her face was perfectly neutral, body formed into the chair with a relaxed poise. She made no move to avoid his scrutiny, but the longer he looked the more he felt stonewalled by a sharp, coiled intelligence. He had known the enigma for six months but was still no closer to understanding her.

He'd also been sleeping with her for equally as long, which did nothing to help his case.

Dr. Elizabeth Spencer, was five foot six, one hundred and thirty pounds, with cropped blonde hair and hazel eyes. She moved with sharp, viciously economical movements, like the wheels of a rushing train. Even when still, a quick glance at her eyes confirmed the mind behind them all was always clicking away.

Spencer was the university's foremost researcher into human biorhythms and behavioral psychology. Hired shortly after receiving her doctorate, her articles had appeared in numerous journals and she was widely respected in her field. Which in itself was an accomplishment because she wasn't yet thirty-five years old.

But for as often as her brilliant intellect occupied Conklin's thoughts, her mind wasn't what currently slicked his palms.

One night six months ago Conklin, a professor of English Literature who often stayed late to grade papers, opened his office door to find Spencer standing calmly in the hallway. In all his years at the university, the two of them had spoken less than half a dozen times. Every conversation had been awkward and strained. At least for Conklin.

The standard convention for polite conversation called for taking an interest in the well-being of the other person. Usually characterized by questions such as, “How are you?" "How have you been?" or the more colloquial "Sup'?"

Spencer never so much as acknowledged such a convention existed. She always struck right to the point whenever she spoke and eschewed any and all forms of polite chitchat. As they sat together that night, Conklin had all but convinced himself she was there to discuss something academic, or philosophical. Though what the topic might've been, he couldn't have begun to fathom.

Which was the reason for his near attack of apoplexy when Spencer told him exactly what she came to talk about.

"I propose the two of us should become sexual partners."

Before Conklin could even react, Spencer launched into her justification.

"I've been studying your finer points for some time now, Professor Conklin. We are both hard working, highly intelligent, dedicated individuals, which already suggests we would be compatible. Our lifestyles are too equally hectic to support any sort of emotional attachment. So in my assessment, a purely sexual relationship, kept to a strict schedule, would be beneficial to both our well beings."

Conklin was flabbergasted. His mouth opened and shut a dozen times as thoughts about her proposal rattled through his head. In the back of his mind he knew he should have balked at the idea. He had no illusions the awkwardness of speaking to her would ever fade, and he was man enough to admit she intimidated the Hell out of him.

But on the other hand, Jesus, it had been months since anyone made him an offer like… Well frankly, no one had ever made him an offer like this.

Everything about Spencer was a little left of normal. Her hazel eyes were more gold than brown. Her lips were pale pink, the color of roses in early spring. The clean, striking planes of her face weren't traditionally beautiful, but they caught the eye anyway. Gave her a sensual quality, which was hard to pin down. Then there was her scent. Even from across the room he caught the edges of it. Something both sweet but spicy, like cinnamon or cardamom.

He spared himself a few more seconds to consider her offer, then threw aside his reservations and simply nodded. He was keenly aware of the pounding of his heart.

Seconds after giving his assent, Spencer stood up and, without preamble, stripped down to reveal lingerie so red it gave her pale skin a kind of glow. For a woman who talked robotically and had the most meticulously clinical mind of any on campus, she possessed the widest and most intense sexual imagination of any lover Conklin ever had.

Every weekday night since, at exactly five forty five, Spencer would enter his office, strip off her lab coat and begin a ninety minute session of explosive carnality almost unheard of in polite society. Afterwards, Conklin would stumble from his office exhausted and deliriously unhinged.

Now however, it was five fifty one and she sat in complete silence. Her attention on an imaginary point beyond Conklin's left shoulder. Unable to ignore his own biology any longer, he uncrossed his legs to relieve the painful pressure in his groin. Mentally he shook his head.

By rights, his office couch should have been creaking like a stagecoach over rough terrain. He needed to see what she had on under her lab coat. Spencer never wore the same outfit twice. In the past, he'd born witness to everything from functional bras and panties to full corsets with garters.

When she at long last, stood up and approached his desk, Conklin broke into a broad grin and began to strip off his tie. But instead of quickly disrobing, Spencer stopped an arm’s length away, produced a slim file from a coat pocket and plunked it down onto his desk. In the second it took him to register it, she turned and sat down without ever once changing expressions.

Conklin was dumbfounded. His eyes yearned for her to come back. But if Spencer understood the look, she ignored it. She sat with a determined calm and pointed one callused finger at the file.

Conklin snatched it up in a fury, unable to believe anything could be more important than the incessant twitching between his legs. As the pages passed, his foggy, hyper—aroused brain tried to make sense of what he was looking at. He read line after line until his brow crinkled.

What on Earth?

He read further, took in a whole page. Then the next. And the next. By page sixteen Conklin's eyes were wide and he was laughing so hard tears rolled down his cheeks.

"Are you serious about this?"

Spencer looked shocked at the question. "Of course I'm serious. I would have thought that was obvious."

Conklin, still laughing, flipped back to the cover page.

Sexual Mechanics and the Unilateral Ownership of Orgasm.

Underneath it read, "Is a sexual partner necessary to achieve frequent and lasting sexual satisfaction?"

Conklin slapped his palm against the cover and tried to catch his breath. "What on Earth made you come up with this?"

Spencer sat forward, instantly ready to discuss the genesis of what was, in essence, a proposal for a research experiment. "I want to settle the debate about the necessity of sexual partners."

Conklin smirked. "My dear. I think that debate was settled ages ago."

The gold in Spencer's eyes flickered, like the edge of a blade pressed to a whetstone. "I think not. In fact, I strongly believe the debate was never settled and needs to have a definitive, conclusive answer."

"Why for Heaven's sake?"

"Because the concept of coupling as the key component for sexual satisfaction may be based on a fallacy."

Conklin opened his mouth to rebuff such a ridiculous statement, but then stopped. Something he'd read stuck in his brain. He flipped back over charts, graphs and footnotes until he found it. Filed under Project Specifications.

He read it again and the grin, which broke across his face was so joyful, it bordered on hysteria. He looked at Spencer and let the file slip from his fingers. He growled as he spoke.

"Your project. It will require multiple...what did you call them? Sessions for sexual experimentation?"

"That's correct. Each session is designed to be more involved and complicated than the last, so as to test the subject's sexual abilities at multiple levels."

"You intend to use yourself as part of this experiment?"

"Yes. I believe I am the ideal candidate, considering my own past sexual history."

"And your partner?"

"Also ideal, in my opinion."

"I should say," said Conklin, his eyes feverishly amorous.

"And the University has approved this?"

"Absolutely," said Spencer. "Sexual mechanics is a burgeoning field of study. And my experiment has the potential to reveal new insights into the nature of human orgasm."

Conklin snickered. "That is indeed exciting. I especially like Stage 4. The idea of including..."

"Toys," finished Spencer.

"Yessss. If I may ask, what made you want to make this a part of your experiment?"

"This was honestly a personal decision. If all the previous Sessions failed, then I wanted to test my partner's abilities with certain key sexual devices. For instance, the seven inch purple vibrator detailed in diagram 4.2, has brought me to orgasm every single time you failed to satisfy me. Why are you unbuttoning your shirt?"

Conklin's fingers froze. "What?"

"Your shirt. I don't understand why you're undressing."

Like film stock being rewound, Conklin's brain rolled back till it remembered what she'd said. Then all the blood drained from his face.

"Wait. Um, I. Every time I failed to...What?!"

Spencer's eyes narrowed. "The purple and red vibrator. It has satisfied me every time..."

"I heard you the first time! What the Hell does that mean?"

Spencer quieted. She tapped a finger against the arm of her chair, then slowly nodded.

"I suspected as much. You never noticed. Well, Professor Conklin, this may come as quite a shock to you. But in the six months of our relationship, you failed to satisfy me more than ninety percent of the time."

"What?"

"Did you need me to repeat something?"

"No! I don't need you to repeat anything!"

Conklin was red faced and gripped the edges of his desk for dear life. "But...but you can't be serious?"

"I don't see how my seriousness plays a factor in this. I'm merely stating a fact. You are not at all proficient in bed."

"You...you...I'm not...You."

"I spent considerable time puzzling over this by the way. It was difficult for me to determine the source of your sexual ineptitude."

Conklin growled but Spencer continued unabated. "After all, you are physically fit, possess a higher than average intelligence and your penis is of sufficient length and girth. After eliminating all of these possible impediments, there was only one answer. Your technique is sub par."

Conklin came around his desk and stood in the middle of the room. Feet firmly planted, arms out as if he were a defensive lineman trying to stop the onrushing truth of Spencer's words.

"Dr. Spencer. This is—an unfortunate circumstance. One I am prepared...More than prepared to rectify. When do you want to start your experiment? I am ready to go right now!"

"Begin?" Spencer's eyebrows came together in puzzlement.

"Professor Conklin, I'm afraid you misunderstand my intentions. I didn't come here to recruit you for the project. I came to tell you that since you will not be participating, I see no reason for our sexual arrangement to continue."

Conklin's breathing was erratic. "Who. Is. The. Subject?"

"Well, there are three potential candidates," she said.

"It's Robertson, isn't it? That bastard has had it in for me for years!"

"Professor Robertson is seventy two years old. He had his hip replaced last fall. I hardly think he would be capable of participating in even Stage One. In fact, I'm positive Stage Three would kill him."

"Enough! Fuck Robertson! No! I mean. I mean no one else is participating in this experiment except me. Strip off the lab coat and break out the tape recorder Dr. Spencer. We are starting this right now!"

With gusto, Conklin tried to both rip his shirt off and unbuckle his pants at the same time. But his movements were wild and spastic and he ended up stuck, shirt half off, both eyes covered. Spencer stood up to try and help but before she could reach him, Conklin lurched hard to the right and tripped over the leg of his desk. He tumbled ass over teakettle to the floor and landed in one big, half-dressed heap.

Contorting himself like a circus performer, he stared at her through his sleeve while one hand flailed desperately at the fly of his pants.

"I'm fine! Ready to go. No problem."

"Professor Conklin, I feel this situation has gotten out of hand."

"I won't be a minute! Get ready for the balling of your life!"

Spencer made a hasty dash for the door. "I think I should leave. Give you time to, um, collect your thoughts."

"Don't fuck Robertson!"

She slipped out into the hall. Through the door came, "Don’t. Fuck. Robertson!"

Is there a message in your novel that you want readers to grasp? That sometimes the things we want the most, are often not what we really need.

Was there an Author who inspired you to write? Oh Lord, too many to list. Ray Bradbury, Edgar Allan Poe, Kurt Vonnegut, Selena Kitt, Stephen King, Anne Rice, Simon R. Green…

How did you come up with the characters in your books? I don’t have a proven method. All of my stories start off as ideas that just came to me randomly. For instance Spencer, the main character in my book Carnal Theory, got her start while I was walking across my grad school campus. The university is so big and sprawling and so science driven that I had this vision of a female scientist hurrying towards her lab. Which got me wondering what her area of expertise was and (my mind being what it is) the logical answer was a sex researcher. From there the story grew on its own.

What are your current projects? Beyond pimping Carnal Theory to every corner of the Internet, I finished the rough draft of another book a few weeks ago. I had to put it aside so I could focus on Carnal Theory, but I finally started editing it just this week. I don’t have a working title yet but the tone is much more serious than some of my other work. It deals more with society’s idea of masculinity and the problems which arise from it. My hope right now is to see 2015 end with two books of mine in publication.

Do you see writing as a career? YES! Oh Lord, yes. That is my ultimate goal. To spend my days writing instead of working for someone else would be indescribable.

Do you ever picture yourself and one of your heroines?  If so, which one? I wish I could leave something kinky here, but quite frankly I’ve got nothing. I’ve never imagined myself with one of my own characters. With the people certain characters are based on, yes. I’ve put the traits of old girlfriends and my wife into characters but the fantasy doesn’t extend to them once they become fictional.

Do you have a favorite heroine/hero from one of your books? If so, who? Can’t possibly pick. They all mean too much to me to choose.

What kind of research do you do for your books? Okay, don’t tell my boss, but every day at my 9-5 job, I take a few minutes to search for articles I think are interesting or that fall in line with a story I’m writing. I usually end up with a whole page of links which I copy & paste then follow up with later checking out references and source materials. It’s a good way for me to not only get a better idea of what I’ll be talking about, but also get ideas for future stories.

What is the hardest part of writing your book? I think a lot of authors will agree that the editing process sucks. It drives me nuts. Mostly because it’s when I not only correct all the stupid mistakes I made, but discover missing backstory details, gaping plot holes and a host of other things. It usually takes weeks before I finally feel ready to send it out into the world for a professional onceover.

If you could say anything to your readers what would it be? BUY MY BOOK!!! I’m not kidding. I don’t care if it makes me look petty, I’m a new author dammit. It is the first, last and only thing on my mind when I’m talking about my book. (Okay, if it does make me look petty, I apologize. But dammit, buy my book.)

What is your favorite Genre and why? When I was younger my favorite genre was horror. I lived and breathed it and still love it to this day. But over the last several years, I’ve gravitated more and more to Science Fiction & Fantasy. I love the world building and humor of authors like Simon R. Green, John Scalzi and James S. A. Corey.

Do you prefer to write alone or do you like to collaborate with other authors? No offense to other authors but I prefer to work alone. I’m part of a wonderful group over at the Erotica Readers and Writers Association where we critique each other’s work, offer suggestions and basically cheer each other on. But for the actual creative process of writing, I work best when I’m alone in my own head.

Do you ever get writer’s block? If so, how do you get through it? Of course, in fact it happens a lot more often than I like to admit. Just the other day, I got frustrated with a new story I’ve been working on for some time. I just couldn’t get the words out of my head and onto the page the way I wanted them, so I put it aside to give my brain a chance to work it through. In order to keep my masochistic side from running wild and doubting my talents, I decided to put it down to the combined pressures of a book launch, a blog tour and editing a new book on the side.

When you are reading a book, who is your favorite author? I don’t have a favorite author, to tell you the truth. Too many great authors, too many beloved books to choose from.

Do you come up with the cover or does someone else do it? I was lucky enough to have the incredibly talented Victoria Miller design the cover for me. She asked me some basic questions about what I wanted and turned those ideas into a cover that literally made me squee when I saw it.

If you could change anything in your writing what would that be? Nothing. My writing is part of who I am. I don’t want to change it.

What book if any would you want to be made into a movie? I would love to see “Carnal Theory” as a movie. That would absolutely blow my mind to see Spencer and Aaronson in real life.

Who would you want to play the hero/heroine? Michele Williams as Spencer would be a beautiful thing. She is one of those actresses who can bring the comedy, drama and sensuality that is inherent to Spencer.

Everyone uses computers, tablets, phones and no one uses handwritten form or typewriters, what do you prefer to use? Hey, not everybody has given up on handwriting! I put pen to paper every time I start a new story. It’s only after I’ve finished the first draft that I break out the laptop and start to transcribe. There is just something about writing everything out first that just makes me feel better. It gives me a greater connection to the story as it unwinds out of my brain.

Is there a ritual you do everything before you begin your book?  My ritual is handwriting actually. I wouldn’t feel as comfortable starting a story on my laptop. The connection just wouldn’t be there.

What do you do when you finish your book and turn it in to the editor? PRAY!!! (Seriously, I’m not even kidding.)