My dad knew I was an avid reader, but he was of the hippie school of free reign, so he nervously let me stare at the naked, intertwining bodies for hours. In third grade I put on my best grown-up voice and tried to order a free introductory set of Harlequin novels. They never arrived. Judy Blume's Forever made it into my sweaty little hands in fifth grade. I still remember something about Aqua Velva and an uncomfortable stinging sensation in the boy's nether regions.
Incest is best, as the eighth-grade boys used to say.
Then I read Hollywood Wives . The depth of my sexual imagination changed when Jackie Collins entered my life. I became obsessed. Even though Jackie got pretty raunchy sometimes, I couldn't stop reading. Jackie's ever written, and while her formula's getting pretty tired, I still get Lucky every once in a while.