You know how you follow someone online, they follow you back, and you both just co-exist in the big, vast space of the interwebs, side-by-side, just chillin’? Yeah, um, me neither.
When Henry, a cool dude in my opinion, told me his first book was about to be published, I said, “Bring it on!” I’d been watching him for a while and was just waiting to see what he did. Carnal Theory is what he did. Check out the info, read the excerpt, and if it sounds good to you, go grab your copy today!
About Carnal Theory
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?
Read the Excerpt
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!”
Get Your Copy of Carnal Theory on Amazon!
About the Author
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.
Twitter: @HenryCorrigan
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/henry.corrigan.35
