S. A. Harper

S.A. Harper hails from somewhere south of the Mason-Dixon line and currently lives in a place unfortunately too far north for a decent oyster po’ boy. Harper’s first erotic story was written in middle school and involved a distracted and inattentive graduate student, several maraschino cherries missing from their jar, and a telltale trail of sticky pink running down a lover’s pale white thigh.

There is a slight possibility that Harper isn’t so much an erotic writer as a writer in need of a hearty snack.