My First Book Signing

 Note: Amy began her writing career with a novel, Blood on the New Moon, which evolved into her latest novel, Lovely Beast, and her first book signing took place in an LGBTQ bar in Milwaukee Wisconsin. The account below is found in her memoir, Shave Slowly.


April 30

IT WAS MY FIRST BOOK SIGNING and what an unbelievable night it turned out to be! Thanks to a dear friend, someone I’ve been close to since I was 18 years old, Amy Ford (my pen name) was stepping out to promote my book, Blood on the New Moon. Pretty damned exciting! My friend, whose been gay as long as I can remember, who I knew was gay long before he came out, got me the gig. I still remember when we first met.

Our eyes locked, and without words the mutual message, I really like you—let’s be friends, was exchanged and we’ve been close ever since. He had a contact at a lesbian bar; that is he was banging the manager. He’d talked up my book and the guy suggested I promote the book there.

“Tell her to come for Boob Fest!” he told Bryan.

Why the hell not, so I showed up for Boob Fest. The lesbian bar was featuring a wet T-shirt contest that night. I arrived early and set up a table. Things started hopping around 10. LatteGirl had already stopped by to show her support. Her sister was along and we all danced and had a beer. As the crowd began filling up the place, I got a little nervous.

I’m good at talking to people, really I am, and obviously in my line of work I’m good mingling in crowds, but this was a different deal.

I was sitting at my table in a corner of the bar, my books neatly stacked, my posters on display along with my Blood on the New Moon business cards. Everything looked great. The crowd was having a good time and finally a few people started wondering over by me to check out what was going on.

My friend who’d set up the gig was there helping me talk to people. Finally, that magic moment when I sold my first book out in public, away from the club where a handful of my close friends and customers had purchased advance copies! First one; then a few more. I proudly signed each book. Then, I sold a few more to some cute lesbians.

Everything was going well when the Polack showed up to support me, so I hung out with him awhile. I do enjoy hanging with him, though I can’t help always feeling guilty about it. He left right before the wet T-shirt contest began . . . his loss! One of the coordinators of the event walked over to me.

She was sporting short bleached blond hair and was dressed as an adorable hip-hop boy. She leans in at my table, folds her hands, peers at me, flutters her eyelashes, and asks, “Are you going to be in the contest?”

“Well, I wasn’t planning on it,” I replied.

“People are asking about you, including the judges, because we can all see you have really great tits!”

How could I refuse such a cute compliment and invitation? I quickly changed out of my tight jeans and army-green tank top with skulls and slashes all over it, and took off my black lace padded bra worn to pump up the boobs for all the lesbians. Over the bra I’d put on a stretchy microfiber white tank top to go with my short denim skirt. I was going commando, no underwear, not that I do that most of the time, but hey, I was in a lesbian bar and about to take part in a wet T-shirt contest!

I get in line with the other contestants and my friend decides to participate because it was open to guys! Pretty cute! Unfortunately he was the only one. Though I look good for my age, most of the girls were much younger and doing crazy things as the warm water was poured all over them—shaking and grabbing their boobs and humping the pavement. At this point we were all outside. Next, we were expected to do some kind of sashay or dance.

During the first round I didn’t  do anything crazy, just strutted my stuff while prancing around, wiggled my butt under my cute little skirt, and all the while showing off my tits with my hands. The second round got nuts. Some of the girls were giving the judges lap dances while burying their breasts in the judges’ faces. That triggered roars of hoots and hollers. “Nice Tits!” “Great Ass!”

That wasn’t working for me.

“I don’t care if I lose, I’m not doing any of those shenanigans,” I told Bryan, resigned to my wet T-shirt contest fate.

When my turn came the crowd of drunken gays and lesbians, mixed in with a few token straights, didn’t quite know what to expect. More reserved than the others, I walked confidently in front of the judges, like I was taking the American Idol stage for the finals and expected to win. I gave them a look from behind at my classic Marilyn-Monroe chassis, vibrated my ass cheeks, then, took the sides of my top down slowly off my shoulders until my bobby-socks boobies popped out—perfectly shaped baseball-sized breasts with dime-sized nipples, and kissed by the cold night air, sticking straight out.

As the crowd reaction roared in approval, I finished my performance with a little shimmy while bouncing my tits up and down to the DJ’s driving house mix. It was cold, so I ran into the club while the judges did their thing. I didn’t expect to win. Some of the other girls had definitely crossed the line into Wet T-Shirt Contest Girls-Gone-Wild territory. I knew I had a certain professional panache when it came to putting on a topless show, but I didn’t think that’s what the judges were looking for.

I changed back into my original book-signing outfit and waited for the judges’ decision. The announcer took the microphone.

“The winner is . . . . . . . . . Amy!”

LatteGirl had returned for the contest so I got some intense way-to-go jumpy-girl hugs from her as well as congratulations and toasts from the crowd.

Yes, everybody, not only did I do a book signing in a lesbian bar, I won their Wet T-Shirt Contest!

SO MUCH FUCKING FUN, I was all smiles, everyone had a great time, I bought a round of drinks, and sipped on Sex on the Beach toasting to the sweet victory with Bryan who’d set the whole thing up. After the contest I settled back in to my book-signing table to continue marketing.

After selling more books, I gave a few away. Slipping onto the dance floor, I’d put book cards into people’s hands while moving from person to person grinding on them. Then, a cute, short-haired, butch lesbian dressed like a little boy came up to me.

She loved my performance and was one of the coordinators of the event. She asked a few questions about my book before asking how much it was.

“I’ve been getting $20.”

“Gee, I don’t even know if I have that much anymore,” she said.

I put my hand on top of her wallet.

“How about this, instead of the cash I want three hugs and a kiss, and you can have a book.”

She agreed. Three hugs and a kiss later I handed over a signed copy of my book! A little later another girl walked up, eye-fucking me every step of the way. She had longer hair and could have passed for straight.

“So, I hear you’re giving books away for hugs and kisses.”

“That’s right, three hugs and a kiss on the cheek, baby, and the book is yours,” I replied.

“Really, just a kiss on the cheek?”

“Well, how about we get through the hugs and see where the kiss leads!” I teased.

After two hugs, I totally kissed her on the lips as she grabbed my ass—no tongue, though, just lips.

To end the unexpectedly raucous evening I gave the bar owners and the manager each a signed copy, gathered my things, and headed home.

COULD THAT BE WHAT most book signings are like? I knew better, and yet I don’t remember ever having a better time, but it was different, not like a vacation or club fun.

I quickly sobered up with the much more serious thought that successfully marketing my book could lead to an exciting and profitable new chapter in my professional life.

It was a great first experience . . . and Amy Ford wants more!