I have been sent an extract of a new book due to be released soon in America. It's quite self explanatory from the title (The Last Living Slut by Roxana Shirazi), i have also been asked to promote the book to people in UK so thought i'd start here. Here is the extract i was sent, let me know what you think: THE LAST LIVING SLUT My abortion was running down my leg. I was dead. I knew there was only one thing that would make me feel better. I had to be with Josh Todd of Buckcherry. It would smooth the pain like cream marble on dry rot. I had nothing. I had lost my soul. It had dissolved into the fumes of garbage trucks, and it resided above them now, singing a homeless song. I was walking like a mannequin. I was relieved that my legs worked, because my brain didnât talk to my body anymore. My heart pumped out its wrenched pain. I needed to find Buckcherryâs tour bus. It was the brilliant warm light that would heal me. My abortion was thick and clumpy, heavier than a period. So I let it be, to run free. I wanted to liberate it. It was the remnants of my baby with someone I loved. I marched to forget, to numb and to deaden. I had bathed myself that day. I had washed and scrubbed, and wished that my child would come back. I missed Dizzy so much. But I knew that being with Josh Todd would make it better. He would be the smooth pink pill of happiness. I was a groupie. This was what I deserved. Pain and tears and heartbreak should notâcould notâenter the sphere of groupiedom. We were all meat. I had been slack, and I had paid the price. So I focused on my destination: the Buckcherry tour bus, parked somewhere on the Nottingham streets, full of fish and chips and yellow lights and skint students on that September night. In my Tesco bag, I had a vibrator, condoms, wipes, and a vitamin shake my mother had made for me, worried that Iâd become too pale from the loss of blood. When I saw the tour bus, I smiled. Ever since Iâd first met Josh Todd a week earlier, and heâd played with my tits on stage during âCrazy Bitchâ while I massaged his crotch, Iâd known for dead certain that we were going to copulate. The attention felt good. He was a rock god. He was Steven Tylerâthe way he moved, his swagger, his presence. Every inch of his naked, serpentine upper body was tattooed with runaway ink. Onstage, he roared with heartbreaking pain on a song like âSorryâ and with howling orgasms on a song like âPorno Star.â But Iâd gone to the show with my little brother, and I was still hurting and raw over Dizzy, so I couldnât imagine being intimate with anyone. But four days later in Oxford, Josh had remembered me. Heâd picked me out of all the pretty girls standing outside the tour bus. It had been two days after the abortion. I wasnât bleeding then, but my left hand was bandaged in white clumpy dressing because of the anesthetic shot. I had thought Iâd forget as soon as I got with Josh Todd. On the tour bus, he kissed me and I massaged his naked snaked back. I told him he needed to eat a few more cheeseburgers; he looked hurt that I thought he was too skinny. He was perfection, I told him. It was a well-known fact on the road that he had a thing for raven-haired and sultry girls. When he noticed the bandages on my hand, though, a fearâof sexual disease or domestic violenceâthundered across his face. âWhatâs happened to you?â he asked. THE LAST LIVING SLUT âI just had an abortion two days ago.â I conveyed the information as daintily as I could, so heâd still want to be intimate with me. âOh, Iâm sorry. Are you okay? You have to look after yourselfâ your spirit.â âIâll try.â I smiled with hope. Josh led me to a bottle-green carpeted area in the back of the bus. Quietly, he undressed me and started to finger my vagina from behind while I bent over and rubbed my ass over his bulging crotch. At the clinic, they gave me a pamphlet warning of the danger of infection if I engaged in any sexual activity for two weeks after the termination. But this was Josh Todd. He would make me forget the pain. Condoms were Joshâs obsession, and he whipped one out like a surgical instrument pivotal to saving a life. We kissed hard and grabbed each other like two savage animals. Sweat dripped off his tattoo-covered torso. He sucked and devoured my body as if I were yummy chicken. His face was that of a rock god, and I wanted to look at it. But he turned me around and penetrated me. I moaned as he roared into me, holding my round hips tightly. My pornographic moans bore through the busâ corridor, and I felt bad. My bandage was unspooling as my body shuddered, full of Josh. âPlease let me swallow you.â I sucked and swallowed him like it was the last soup on earth. He had been affectionate. I needed that. Somewhere along the way, my bandage fell off, revealing the puncture of the anesthetic needle on my hand. He saw the pain in my face and we talked about Dizzy. Josh was a master of spiritual healing, though he couldnât administer it to himself. Now, in Nottingham, I drank my vitamin shake. I hoped my breasts were big enough. Theyâd grown huge during my pregnancyâballooned and aching. I knew I needed to be home in bed that night, but that would be madness. Outside the tour bus, I saw the bandâs crew. They greeted me beaming, like they knew. I just want comfort tonight: I want to be with Josh. I presented myself outside the bus as a beautiful glamour girl, my hair chestnut-brown and glossed, makeup a work of art, body voluptuous and ready. But Josh was still in the dressing rooms, so the bandâs tour manager, Kyle, escorted me there to meet him. Nottingham Rock Cityâs dressing rooms were a catacomb of naughty sex-play, with a beehive of squat, pocket-size niches tucked in the back of the venue. I found Josh in the Buckcherry dressing room with the rest of the band, stage-sweaty and signing posters for fans and taking photos with contest winners. He hugged me, and I removed my coat to reveal my corset and polkadot bunny skirt. âYou look beautiful,â he said. âHow have you been?â âThe train journey was so long,â I said. He asked about my family and my background in a very concerned way, wanting details I didnât find interesting. But he was generous with me, so I felt high and happy, and began to forget the clinic. âKeith really likes you,â a roadie whispered in my ear, referring to Keith Nelson, the guitarist. âHe wants to see you.â âI canât right now,â I said. âIâm with Josh.â âI think you should go with Keith,â the roadie insisted. âHeâs crazy about you.â Keith was stereotypically sexy, muscular, and rockerish, but devoid of the sexual aura Josh Todd radioactivated. I didnât want to be with Keith. I looked at Josh as Keith stood behind me waiting. I didnât want to offend anyone. I wished Josh would say something. Maybe this was a test: I was supposed to perform my groupie part. Keith took my hand and led me away. I looked back at Josh, and he looked at me. My blood flowed heavier, and I felt disgusted with who I was. I missed Dizzy. I wished he was here. Keith took me to an empty dressing room and locked the door. Fluorescent lights on the ceiling kept guard over empty beer bottles, an eyeliner-smeared mirror, a pile of soaked sandwiches. ITHE LAST LIVING SLUT looked over at Keith. He had unzipped his pants. I didnât want to do this, but I wanted to be polite. He was a nice guy who always had to play second best to Josh. I couldnât reject him. It wouldâve been cruel. I could feel myself bleeding in clumps as Keith pushed himself against the door to keep it shut. How can I be doing this? He had his dick in his hand, and it had a huge ring through it. It repulsed me. I got down and began to suck it, and it hurt my mouth. I opened up wider so the ring could fit into my mouth and throat. I gave him the best cock-sucking I could, so he could cum and I could leave. But he didnât cum. He wanted to **** me. âTurn around,â he said. I didnât want to. He lifted my skirt. My abortion was sliding down my leg. âItâs just my period,â I said, not wanting to offend him. He put a condom on and looked away from the mess as he entered me. That cockring choked my vagina, scraping my insides. He pumped away furiously and I felt nothing. I was dead. I closed my eyes and thought of sunshine, of my grandmotherâs house where I played on the carpets. Keith couldnât stand the mess. He looked away in disgust. âHoney, itâs too much blood,â he said. âIâm sorry itâs grossing you out. You can finish if you want to. Or you can come in my mouth.â He finished in my mouth. He was such a sweet guy. I felt bad he was grossed out. When I stepped into the corridor to find a bathroom, Stevie the guitaristâwhoâd been with Ostara in Oxfordâcame over to me and touched my leg. âI have to go find Josh,â I said, as if he were the only remedy. On the bus, Josh was eating a sandwich and salad, and watching a James Bond film with the character Jaws in it. I think it was Moonraker. He offered me food and water. I wiped my leg with a DEAD 253 tissue and started to put mango body butter on my skin. My blood was flowing heavier now. I hoped it wasnât too visible. Stevie, Keith, Xavier the drummer, and a couple crew members were on the bus. They all wanted to watch me play with myself, and I obliged, spreading my legs and rubbing my dildo along my pussy for them. One of the crew guys asked me if I wanted to have some fun; I declined. Then Stevie and Xavier asked if I wanted to go with them to the Welbeck Hotel, which was located next to the tour bus. Keith wanted to come, too. I took a deep breath. I could always say no. I looked at Josh, but he was quiet, wearing his glasses. He didnât seem to want me tonight, but I wanted to talk to him. Three of the other guys in the band took my hand and led me to the hotel. We took the elevator to a room that was so pretty. Keith turned off the lights, because he couldnât face the blood. His cockring hurt me again, but I was as quiet as a mouse. Then Stevie climbed on me from behind and fucked me as I tried to please Xavier, while he tried to enjoy a butch girl with a mound of crusty pubic hair and BO that nearly made me throw up. I wanted the band to be happy. Once they were done ******* me, they left. I gathered my belongings in my plastic bag and caught the early morning train home.