Friday, August 31, 2007

Where did the past twenty-five days go?

I know it's been a while since an update. I apologize. I've been busy, busy, busy, and trying to write and all that jazz. Right now, I'm a little over three hours away from getting on a plane to attend the Maui Writers Conference in Hawaii. I've never been to Hawaii, and I'm going alone. I'm nervous, and excited. Hopefully, I'll make some very good connections in the writing world to help me break through. It's hard with the constant rejections, knowing you have a good piece of writing, certainly no worse than much of the stuff published now. If the people have a face to the name, perhaps that would be better? I don't have a bad face, and my haircut is fierce, if I do say so myself!

I'm working on projects still. Gym Story and Vietnam Story are in a semi-hiatus because I haven't had the time necessary to work on them, and I've been trying to write shorter stories to post, but those have turned into longer stories. Funny. Anyway, maybe this trip will inject some "hop-to-it" in me. I hope so.

I entered a contest on for Romance First Chapters. I encourage everyone to join and then vote for me! :-D You loff me, I know ;). It's free, but in a probably "shooting myself in the foot" move, please only vote a ten if you'd like to see the next chapter. Also, please comment. I'd like to know what people think, since I don't know how you specifically vote. You don't have to tell me, but comments are nice :).

The novel I chose was Manna Tree. Was that a good choice in your opinion? Let me know!

Finally, I wish all my US folk a happy and safe Labor Day. Can't believe the summer is basically over. What's up with that?!



Monday, August 06, 2007

Nice (June 29, 2005)

I'm trying to find inspiration, and for me, sometimes that means reading old writings/stories/logs, etc. This one is old, two years old to be exact, written based off characters not completely of my own creation. Fan-fiction-esque as it was. Anyway, it's a bit . . . racier in terms of what I usually post on this blog, but I stumbled upon it again this weekend and I actually liked it. Shock. I did write this one, though, which is why the fact it is old is important, back when I was more shy about this type of writing than I am now (still shy, just not quite so shy). Anyway, some of you may recognize it, but I hope you enjoy it anyway. Happy Monday!


His hand is warm on her bare back . . . warm and large, and she smiles as she feels her skin drag across her back muscles, nestling her head in the pillow her arms hug to her face.

His lips kiss her shoulder blade—whisper-soft like a snowflake—and she purrs at the delicate action.

“What are you thinking?” he asks against her skin, that warm, large hand sliding across her back and underneath to her stomach. His fingers play with the area around her navel, dipping inside and causing her to clench her abdominal muscles. The cotton sheets slide lower down her body as she stretches out her leg, bringing her stomach more fully into his hand and touch.

She hums. “This is nice . . .”

His lips are now at the nape of her neck, using his free hand to smooth the hair away and expose her flesh to him. His tongue darts out, warm and moist, and she thinks briefly of the tropical Bahamian sun she experienced when she was 18. She loved that sun . . . wishes she had the opportunity to experience again.

“Nice?” he asks on a chuckle, the hand at her stomach sliding up to cup a bare breast. “Is that all?”

His front presses against her back, and she feels the male curves and valleys of his body. Smooth chest, shredded abs, hard penis all in concert to bring her body and mind into a new awareness of him. His thumb on her nipple also serves that purpose.

“You sound disappointed,” she says, muffling a giggle, eyes still closed as the hand now travels south to the juncture of her thighs. His fingers meet no resistance, her body growing accustomed to the pleasure his gives hers, and wanting more of it. She sighs, spreading her legs a little wider so his fingers could have better access.

“I was hoping for bloody brilliant,” he admits with a laugh, his teeth closing over the shell of her ear as his tongue soothes away her injury. She shudders at the sensation of a wet mouth on her ear and his fingers inside of her. Soon, that mouth blazes a trail to the crook of her neck, and she feels his tongue tracing . . . something . . . and she shivers again.

“How do you know ‘nice’ isn’t ‘bloody brilliant’?” she asks, peeking at him over her shoulder. “Perhaps I was only trying to be efficient . . .”

“Efficient,” he mutters in her neck before kissing it again. “There’s no need to be ‘efficient’ now . . .”

Indeed not, for they have been lazing in bed for the better part of the morning. Usually, she is up with the sun, taking a walk in the park to get her ready for the day. Now the thought of leaving the bed . . . leaving him . . . is entirely unacceptable.

He applies pressure with the hand on her stomach, and she complies, turning over so she lies on her back. He stares at her as if seeing her for the first time, and she says nothing. His eyes caress her almost as effectively as his hands do, roving over her eyes, nose, cheeks, ears and lips. They move down to her neck and he licks his lips before tasting the area where her Adam’s Apple would be if she had one. The tongue trails down to the valley of her breasts, and his nose nuzzles one nipple, then the other, before flicking the last with his tongue. She moans, spreading her legs so he could settle between them, his length hard and pulsing against her inner thigh. She winces at the feel of him because she’s still tender from their first joining—her first ever—but the wincing dims in comparison to the pleasure he has given her . . .

Those large, warm hands, drag down to her hips before cupping her bum, bringing her pelvis closer to his, making his heat touch hers and making them both groan.

“I can’t stop touching you, love,” he whispers against the underside of her breast, meeting her brown eyes with his. His teeth nip her before kissing away the injury, and her hands rake through his black hair, now spiked every which way from sleep and other activities.

“You don’t have to,” she says, the last word on a gasp as his maleness slips into her womanhood. She clamps around him immediately, loving the sensation of him filling her.

“Even if I touch you here?” he asks, letting her know where “here” was as he thrust into her.

She giggles, the sound husky, and brings his head down to hers. “Especially there . . .”

He grins and kisses her, his tongue sliding inside and mimicking the thrusts he makes into another pair of lips. She has always loved his kisses, the feel of his tongue against hers, his lips on hers, his arms holding her . . .

He shifts positions, pushing himself to the hilt inside her before getting on his knees then on his bum, the new position causing him to swell and go even deeper inside her.

“This is new,” she says, partly on a moan as her body adjusts to him.

“Just trying to keep it fresh and not-so-efficient,” he says cheekily, pressing a chaste kiss to her lips before pumping his hips again.

She hugs him tightly, her lips hovering above his and one hand clutching the hair at the back of his head while the other grips the small of his back. She works her hips, trying to get the best friction or to make him go deeper or for him to stroke her just there . . ., all the while trying not to explode at the feel of his mouth and tongue now at her neck, tracing the word she finally recognizes:


She is his—completely now—just as he is hers . . . whether he knows it or not. She kisses and bites his shoulder alternatively before clasping her to him and trembling violently as she succumbs to the bliss he gives her.

Guh— She doesn’t know what she wanted to say—the pleasure removing all ability to think at that moment—but it was probably his name . . . or God’s name . . . she buries her face into his shoulder.

He continues to pump and she continues to let him, for although she’s reached her peak he hasn’t, and quite honestly, she loves the feel of him inside her. His breath is now ragged and harsh in her ears, and she caresses the space behind his because she knows he’s extra sensitive there. She whispers, “come for me” against his lobe.

He grunts, hisses, and then slams into one last time before she feels jet after jet of his release hit her inner walls.

She pulls back, wiping away the moisture from his face, and her lips pull into a smile. His follow hers, and he rests his forehead against hers.

“Nice,” he says. “That was nice.” His hand sweeps against her sweat-slicked back, bringing her closer to him even as they remain intimately locked together.

She giggles and kisses him, nodding when she pulls away. “It was . . . and it is.”

It is the first of many nice moments.

Saturday, August 04, 2007

Just . . . Something . . . forgive errors


Neither had thought to bring a blanket, so the fresh-cut grass itched their skin a little bit, and random ladybugs and other insects used them as pathways, and thankfully little else. She’d had the foresight to search for anthills and dog poop, and he had smiled at her consideration for him.

After all, he was to be her pallet for that afternoon, anyway.

She was sleeping, snoring softly. Her breath was warm against his chest, tickling him slightly. Her body curved around his so completely, their legs tangled, her arms around his torso, her cheek atop his beating heart. Some of her hair had fallen out her chignon, and he brushed it behind her ear. Her hair, her skin, everything about her was soft and pliant, and when she snuggled further into him, he smiled and kissed the top of her head.

It was moments like these, contraband and dangerous, that were so precious to him, not only for their rarity, but for their substance. Now, he was just a boy and she was just a girl, his girl. There was nothing but the sun and a breeze with them, along with buzzing of flying insects or the sporadic calls of birds as they flew above. No need to keep up appearances now.

A large cloud passed overhead, darkening the shadow they were under even more. Soon they would have to make it back. It didn’t take that long for her to go to the post office, and his parents would be home soon. It wouldn’t do well if they arrived to an empty house.

“Baby,” he murmured against the top of her head. She barely stirred. “Darlin’, wake up.” He shook her shoulder gently.

She nuzzled her cheek into his chest before she opened her eyes. He tilted his head back as she rested her chin where her cheek had been. She gave him a drowsy grin.


He chuckled low in his throat. “Afternoon.” A kiss to her forehead. “We have to go soon.”

Her face crumpled right before she placed it in the crook of his neck. “Five more minutes.”

Her lips were soft and slightly moist, and he felt his body shudder from the point of contact throughout his body. He slipped his fingers to her nape, the heavy plait she wore brushing against his knuckles.

“A lifetime,” he murmured, resting his forehead to the top of her head. “Unfortunately, that cannot start now.”

“Or this lifetime,” came her muffled response.

Sighing, he pulled her face away from his neck. His thumbs caressed the swells of her cheeks, her brown eyes sad and wistful. He hated he put this expression on her face, especially when not minutes before it was the perfect picture of peace.

“Sweetie,” he breathed, brushing his nose against hers, then tilting his head so his lips grazed hers. She clung to him and deepened the kiss, grinding her hips into his in reaction. He groaned low in his throat, knowing his body was more than ready to give her what his heart, in good conscience, could not. He would not take her innocence from her. That belonged solely to her and to her husband, and unfortunately, he could not be the latter.

They linked fingers together as they broke their kiss, and he placed their joined hands over his left breast. He looked down at their connection, she dark, he light, and he saw nothing of the ugliness and the abomination folks in their town saw.

“Beautiful,” he whispered. He ran his thumb along her knuckles and his blue eyes met her brown ones. “Absolutely beautiful.”

She smiled brightly at him. “Can we be beautiful for five more minutes?”

He didn’t answer her, instead returning to his prone position and cradling her body back atop his.

No smart man should ever be in such a hurry to leave his utopia, no matter how fleeting its time there actually was.


Can be anyone, but yes, I did have a couple in mind. I hope you enjoyed it.

Friday, August 03, 2007


That's been my life for the past week, so I apologize for dropping off the face of the proverbial earth. Yes, this week was sent Priority mail from hell, complete with getting more rejections for Manna Tree and RJC than I ever thought possible, so I'm going to need a weekend to recover. All e-mails and such will be answered, now that I have my computer back *snuggles*, and maybe, just maybe, I'll gathered the tatters of my imagination and creativity and write something worthy of posting.

Don't hold breaths, though.

Two bright spots--saw a dear friend of mine at the bus stop yesterday. She's in town for a year, yay! That makes me happy. Also, RAWSISTAZ gave Being Plumville a five-star review on Amazon. I'm not upset at that, either :).

Anyway, I hope everyone's week has been way better than mine.