The Pulpit

AUTHOR’S NOTE; The following is a work of erotic horror so if you’re under the age of eighteen navigate away from this page. 

            Riana Färber lay in silk luxury.  Awakening as she did in total darkness she stretched out her body and squirmed against the decadent lining of her coffin.  Not quite fully conscious the two hundred year-old vampire became aware of the unnatural life slowly rising thorough her. 

            The sun hasn’t fully set, she thought.  I usually don’t like resting in my casket but we couldn’t find someplace to pass the day away.  The energy sluggishly moving through my body always gives me the creeps.

            The slippery feel of her silk gown moving against the same material beneath her gave her the impression she was sliding.  Even the slightest wiggling produced the sensation of lying upon a dry, yet oiled surface.  She opened her eyes.

            Riana began to hear sounds, faint yet distinct.  The graceless clomping of boots, the deep low mutterings of men’s voices and scrape of stone against stone resounded through the ancient wood of her coffin.  All became silent for a moment.  Then she heard a grinding sound like someone rubbing two bricks together for some unknown reason.  Puzzlement rose in her brain until the thudding slam reverberated the floor above her making small particles of dust rain down upon her face.  Then the realization came to her.

            Someone has found my hiding place!

            The icy cold caress of a thousand worms upon her brain sent terror flowing into her extremities as if she had been dunked into a frozen pond.  The splintering of wood and fiberglass above her made more fine debris cascade down upon her.  In her mind it became a race against time.  Would her body’s strength return faster than the intruders would rip open her hiding place?  Which would happen first?  Did Riana have time enough to battle those seeking to destroy her or would the clock finally run out on her undead state?  A low whimpering echoed above her.

            Oh shit—Michael! Riana recalled, not lessening her fears.

            Michael Renee McDaniels.  Her current paramour, friend and companion was stretched out in his own box which lay atop hers.  In her dull, dazed state she had forgotten their resting arrangement.  The small crypt in the center of the cemetery hadn’t allowed them to reside side-by-side.  Instead he had graciously agreed to have his coffin set above hers.  Chivalry, love or whatever the reason was Michael had insisted upon this.  Riana’s eyes began to well up with hot tears which ran out of the corners of her eyes and just past her ears. 

            “No,” her lover’s croaking voice pleaded.  “Please don’t do this.”

            His words shattered her undead heart like an ice sculpture hit with a mallet.

            “I send you to Hell’s hot embrace!” a man’s thundering reply came.

            There was a flurry of activity above her.  She could hear and feel Michael’s limbs thrashing frantically against the bottom of his casket.  More strength poured into her body but not enough to push herself free and defend the man she loved.

            “Stop!  You don’t understand!” the man above her shouted.

            Riana flinched at the sudden sound of a hammer striking something wooden and Michael’s painful wail.  More thumping noises, even more insanely desperate boomed only shut out by the horrible din of repeated impacts from the mallet.  Tears ran down the sides of her face like droplets of a torrential rain on a window pane.  Michael’s gurgling sobs, his attackers’ heavy grunting and her own weeping filled up the seven foot long coffin she lay in.  The terrible sounds overflowed like the sorrow welling up inside of her.  Riana slapped her hand across her mouth to keep her screams of denial from being heard.  The final blow fell and she gasped into her bitten palm when she spied the bloody, ragged point of the stake appear in the top of her own casket.

            “It is done,” the man stated.  “Evil has been destroyed and we can take pride in doing the Lord’s work.”

            Riana tried to think herself as small as a mouse, as silent as the grave and still as a dark tarn.

            “What about the other one?” the man’s accomplice inquired.

            “There is no reason to check it,” the first one countered.  “We only had reports of one male bloodsucker not two.  Besides how would it get out?”

            “Let’s get out of here.”

            The clomping sounds of their exit echoed like the sounds of a hollow victory in her mind.  Michael had been destroyed, killed and murdered.  They had been together for sixty years.  Her mind immediately and painfully began running through the memories of meeting, loving and turning him.  From the disco days of the seventies to the grudge era and beyond they had walked together in harmony, hunger and health. 

            Now he is gone, she sniffled.

            The bang of the iron gate informed her those who had slain her lover had departed without further investigation.  The sudden fact she had survived another close call burst into her sorrowful brain.  Riana smiled and felt the tug of her lips pulling away from her fangs.  The bared pearly weapons felt longer and sharper as her hunger for revenge grew in her undead heart.

****

            Riana crouched in the darkness and ignored the soft moaning of the semi-unconscious woman lying next to her.  She raised her sight to the small square of light above her head and tried not to laugh out loud.  Her prey’s heavy footfalls informed her he was approaching.

            Her search hadn’t taken long, in fact it had been surprisingly shorter than she expected.  Reverend Richard Black cleared his throat as he walked towards her position.  The First Church of Christ’s pastor was a pompous, arrogant and proud man who she had studied well these past few weeks.  Michael’s killer had bragged far and wide how he had removed an evil blot on the surrounding countryside.  His boasting tale told from the pulpit above her head had sent shock, relief and admiration flowing from his congregation to puff up the wilted self-worth of the minister.  This was his Achilles’ heel—his overwhelming, driving need to be respected.  It would be his downfall.

            Another groggy groan from the body beside her let Riana know she hadn’t quite rendered its owner completely senseless.  She twisted upon the sheaf of papers, crushing and tearing them to cuff the woman once more.  The sounds stopped making the vampire smirk.

            I know you too well now Reverend Black, she thought.  Your bad memory, your egotistical hatred of looking down at your sermon’s notes and how you had concocted this secret hiding place beneath your pulpit so your assistant could quietly remind you of what to say next.

            Despite the holiness of this place it had cost Riana very little in pain to crawl into here from the secret passage’s entrance in the church’s hall.  The sanctuary above would singe her flesh to a charred blackened state if she set foot upon it’s hallowed and consecrated floor.  But the ladder and hole above her had been woefully neglected when it came to being blessed. 

            Black couldn’t be seen blessing this place without being discovered and his ego would not have allowed that.

            The white square was eclipsed letting Riana know her prey had stepped up to the podium.  She retrieved the sermon’s notes and began to silently ascend the short ladder.

            “My brothers and sisters in Christ,” he began, “I am so happy to see so many smiling new faces amongst our congregation.  It makes my heart swell with joy to witness what one single act of faith and courage can do to bring so many others into the light of Jesus Christ, our Lord.  Can I get a Hallelujah?”

            “Hallelujah,” they responded.

            “We walk in dark times, brothers and sisters.  These are dark and dangerous times where pop culture tears at the fabric between what is right and wrong.  Youngsters are being corrupted by false beliefs, ungodly trends and whorish fashions.  They are being led to believe that monsters are misunderstood, to be pitied and loved instead of being destroyed like the unholy vermin they are.  Vampire movies, books and stories depicting these vile creatures to be nothing more than human beings who have a disease, nothing more.  We have to stay strong and fight what we know to be the truth…God’s own truth!”

            “Amen,” the congregation muttered.

            Riana rose to crotch level beneath the pulpit.  She licked her lips in anticipation of the events to come.  Deep inside she felt a thrill of tickling glee for what she was about to do to the arrogant murderer of her beloved Michael. 

            It has been a long time since I’ve done this, she thought silently.  Existing on animals and stealing nourishment from hospitals is enough to keep me alive but there’s something so right, so exciting about supping on a human.

            “We have long suffered from these misguided authors,” Black said, his voice rising.  “It started with Bram Stoker and has grown now to include the business empire of that Myers’ woman—a follower of the Mormon way who pens atrocity after atrocity!  Can I get an amen?”

            He could and did.

            Riana reached out and with a feather light touch caressed the front of Black’s expensive trousers.  She withheld a smile when his hips jerked back.

            “I come to you, a man dedicated to His way,” the minister said without stammering.  “to teach you these things must be, should be and will be fought!  Too many innocents are rushing to see the next Twilight movie, buying up vampire erotica and snuffing out the light of their souls.”

            She parted the folds of his fly and began to tug the zipper down.  Trapped by his speech and confusion the preacher still tried to pull away.  His pant legs shook in slight a trembling shake as she slowly yanked the metal fastener to the bottom of his fly. 

            “W-we must, without haste or fear of reprisal, tell these people we will no longer stand for their corruption.  We will protest at these movies, picket book stores during their new releases and pass out a million flyers to those who have been led down the wrong path.”

            She felt him shrink from her touch but her firm grip on his fleshy shaft held him in place.  Tugging gently on it Riana began to stroke the minister’s cock and make him gasp and stammer during his impassionate speech.  She was betting on him being too embarrassed or aroused to give away her position.

            “I-I know you will be with me, beside me the entire time as I go forth to enlighten the ignorant masses of the dangers in believing vampires and werewolves are anything less than monsters,” he stuttered.  “We will be a force from Heaven itself to be reckoned with.  C-can I get a Hallelujah?”

            “ Hallelujah!” they cried out.

            His meaty shaft had grown to its full length in her soft fingers.  Riana tugged him free of his pants and pulled the rampant cock to her cold lips.   She waited for the right moment.  For a moment he seemed to forget she had him by the balls.

            “It will be a glorious day when the world rises up to cast off the blindfold wrapped around their eyes.  We will cry in one voice that we will not allow, permit or ignore the corruption of our children.  Holding Hollywoodand the publishing industry accountable for their evil ways, to wean them off of ill-gained profits and drag them kicking and screaming into His light!”

            Upon Black’s uttering of the word His she placed her lips against the bulbous head of his cock making the minister yelp out the word.  She swirled her tongue around it making him pause for effect and keep the illusion being seen by his parish he was in control.  She heard him groan softly and imagined what must be going through his mind.  Laughing to herself she could almost hear him wondering what had gotten into his female assistant.  A part of her deduced the pastor must be thinking his sermon was inspiring the woman beneath the pulpit to suckle his cock out of sheer respect and undying dedication.

            “I charge you to do as I have done.  To seek out those filthy vile creatures who slink from the light of Heaven and hide in moldy graves.  Drag them out and drive a stake through their black hearts.  Look to the signs of their existence.  You must keep a constant vigil!  For if too many of our youngsters believe vampires are cool we will lose them to bloody bared fangs, their blessed lives given to slake the devilish thirst of these demons!  Oh Lord, please deliver us from Evil!”

            Riana sucked him deep into her mouth and he sobbed out the last sentence very loud.  She fondled his tightly clenched balls and tugged the base of his cock while in her mind’s eye she saw him gripping the sides of the podium in a white knuckled grip.  She covered his shaft with spit and snickered while his feet shifted in agitation, arousal and fear. 

            “T-tomorrow we will take up the fight and demand the local chain bookstore stop carrying the works of Anne Rice, Bram Stoker, Stephanie Myers and others who would pen such atrocities to confuse and befuddle the minds of our innocent children.  We will usher in an age—an age of… of… goodness and righteousness!”

            His slight forgetfulness had been deliberately caused by Riana’s mouth working feverishly upon his iron-hard rod.  Her hands squeezed his balls and yanked upon his vein-covered cock until she heard, with great delight, his elbows strike against the top of the pulpit.  She knew the men and women staring at him would be thinking the preacher was in the grips of a religious fervor.  Black’s voice returned but it was aimed downward in her direction.  He spoke in hushed tones and she surmised he had covered the microphone in front of him to further muffle the sound for the question didn’t come out of the large speakers.

            “What are you doing?” he husked out. 

            Riana didn’t answer him but ran the tip of her tongue underneath his throbbing member and tickled his quaking testicles. 

            “Helen you h-have to stop,” he demanded weakly.  “This isn’t proper.”

            “No,” she whispered back.  “Keep preaching.”

            Riana licked her index finger and waited for him to pick up where he left off.

            “Brothers and sisters—good people ofNiles, will you take up this burden?  Can you find the strength and dedication to suffer the slings and arrows of the lost children of humanity, just like the punishment Christ endured on his way toCalgary?  We must be strong in our faith!  Too many souls have been lost to darkness because we have sat by in idle disbelief and watched the destruction of morality.  Out of sheer shock and dismayed we have not acted accordingly.  Can I get an A-amen?”

            “Amen,” they chorused as she rubbed her wetted finger against his puckered anus.

            “I-I didn’t hear you,” Black said in a distracted tone.

            Riana slid the slippery digit into his bottom and covered his shaft with her wet mouth.

            “Amen!” the reply from the pews came loudly.

            “Again?”

            She pushed it up to the second knuckle and slurped harder at his organ.

            “Amen!”

            Working one hand up and down his meat, pushing her face against the fabric of his trousers and swirling her finger in his anus Riana drove the minister into a frenzy of contortions.  She inwardly giggled how those in the pews would think he was in the grip of some religious fever.

            “We w-will remove the stain upon literature, movies and wash away improper illusions!” he shouted.  “It will be us, filled with the righteousness of the Holy Spirit, who will topple the printed media from their unholy perches!” he bellowed.

            Riana felt his cock swell in tune with the growing loudness of his voice.  His ass clenched around her finger, holding it snugly inside while his balls began to flex.  She increased her efforts and soon she was gagging from the depth his throbbing meat had sunken to in her throat.  Yanking, tugging, thrusting and fingering she felt his dam break and the sudden rush of boiling warm seed rush down the fevered length of his organ. In her mind’s eye she could see the congregation lean forward, intent on his words.  They would see the redness in his face and mistake it for holy passion.  Only he would know it was because of the killer orgasm he was about to suffer.

            “We will cast them down into the Pit!  Overthrowing them and putting in place a moral and responsible group of goodly thinking people w-who will… always remember… they are beholden to… keeping faith with…”

            That’s it, she thought, say His name just as you get off…

            “Jesus Christ!” he screamed.

            Riana’s gullet was treated to a torrential rush of Reverend Black’s sperm which shot out of his flexing cock’s head in thick rivulets.  She noted with pleasure he was standing on the balls of his feet while her throat milked, her fist pumped and her finger jabbed him.

            “Oh my God, brothers and sisters!” he shrieked.  “Dear Lord!  It’s u-unbelievable—oh my God!”

            “Amen!” the people cried over and over.

            “Yes!” some woman screeched, “Testify to His glory, Reverend Black!”

            “Lord Jesus Christ!” some woman wailed.

            “My life for yours, Jesus!” a man roared.

            “I’ll take up the Cross for Him!” a weeping female screamed.

            Riana bit his cock and a rush of hot blood spewed into her throat. 

            “Oh God!” Reverend Black shouted.

            She drank heavily.  He slumped against the back of the podium while the rush of erotic sensations rose from his loins and enflamed his brain.  Riana felt the preacher’s hips buck slower and slower until she had her fill.  Withdrawing her fangs from his punctured cock she held him still and retrieved a length of surgical gauze from her pocket.  She stopped the bleeding with the bandage.  Only then did she allow him to withdraw his limp, reddened shaft from the prison of her firm grip.  Tenderly she placed the sensitive organ back into his pants and briefs and tucked a note into his front, right pocket while the people probably now standing in the aisles shouted, prayed and rejoiced.   She slipped down the ladder and crawled along the passageway to find a place to hide until night when she could escape.

****

            She stood on the threshold of the mausoleum and waited.  The moon, full and pregnant slowly crossed the starry sky while she passed the time.  Down the hill she could see the cars speeding past the cemetery carrying people to their various nighttime destinations.  Riana smiled briefly. 

            I wonder how much longer he can resist? She mused merrily. It has been two weeks and I must admit I do admire his willpower.  Most of my victims don’t last a few days before they come to me begging for more or to be turned but him I had to make an appointment.  He showed up per my note, but he tried to kill me.  Even then, while he was under my power Black fought me but his efforts were futile.  He died right after I drained him the second night.  I felt him crawl off and die in his bed, his bible and crucifix lying forgotten on the ground beside him.  You know if I didn’t hate him so much for destroying Michael I’d be tempted to keep him around.

            She knew the curse of her toothy kiss had coursed through the minister’s body poisoning his soul and corrupting his mind.  He wouldn’t be able to enter his church or hold his bible.  It was a matter of time. 

            Then my revenge will be complete.

            She felt rather than saw him crouching near a cluster of tombstones at the very bottom of the hill.  The supernatural connection between them alerted her to his whereabouts as surely as if he was wearing a bright red neon sign above his head.  The frantic thumping of his heartbeat crossed the distance like an ocean wave and reverberated off her body.  Riana took great delight in its fluttering beat.

            Come to me! She called out psychically.

            She watched him dart from gravestone to gravestone trying to hide.  This amused her to no end and she wondered whose attention he was trying to avoid.  Was it hers?  Or did the infected preacher desperately attempting to conceal his plight from members of his congregation who had followed him here?  Would he approach her or just glare at her from a safe distance?

            Hopping, loping and dashing she snickered as Black went from hiding spot to hiding spot.  Eventually the slouched figure crossed over the road in front of her mausoleum and slide to a stop behind a tall monolithic headstone.  Riana laughed and the sweet sound of her merriment rang out in the graveyard.  She heard him moan in arousal in response.

            “You cannot hide from me, Reverend Black,” she called out.  “I can feel your presence as surely as I can see the moon above me.”

            “What have you done to me?” he cried out in a pitiful tone.

            “Nothing you didn’t deserve.”

            “Who are you?  Why do you haunt my dreams?  Night after night I saw your face dancing like some Gamorrahian whore in sensual visions which cloud my mind.  Now I have wakened in my grave only to be pulled to your presence.”

            “I am Riana—the mate of the vampire you destroyed.  I was lying in the other casket while you drove a piece of vile wood into my lover’s heart.”

            “But that’s impossible!”

            “Why because you think I couldn’t move the coffin above me to get out?  You are as stupid as you are misguided.  I have strength enough to carry my hiding place for many miles without breaking a sweat but you were too lazy to check.”

            “Please restore me to Glory—I cannot enter my own church anymore!”

            “You are of the night now.  No longer can you call for divine aid or even utter the name of your deity.  I have made you what you despise.”

            “Why have you done this?”

            The holy man stepped out from behind the monolith and staggered towards her.  She noted dispassionately his white face, gleaming fangs and hungry face.  His hands were curled into painful claws and the smell of burnt flesh wafted past her face.  She guessed he tried to enter holy ground only to find he was damned forever.  Tears ran down his hollow cheeks so terrible was his plight it nearly tugged pity from her undead heart.  She had taken everything away from him he had stubbornly clung to.  Pathetic and distraught he sobbed quietly before her.  But she heard the echoes of Michael’s voice and the sudden remorse for Black’s plight died a stillborn’s death.  He stopped two feet away and fell to his knees.

            “Tell me why you’ve made me this way?” he demanded softly.

            “To teach you a lesson—I didn’t ask for this curse but I live with it the best I can.  Michael and I never took a human life but you weren’t interested it that.  You came, filled with righteous indignation and slaughtered my beloved like some sacrificial lamb on the altar of you puffed up ego.  Now you will suffer as I have,” she said making her voice cruel on purpose.

            “Please no”.

            “You can accept your fate or wait for the morning to come and destroy you.  There will be no redemption either in Heaven or Hell for you, Reverend Richard Black!”

            She turned her back on him and shut the door to her crypt.  A part of her wondered what course of action he would take.  Would he greet the dawn and die or would he slink off to his own grave and hide from the sun?  She was hoping for the second option.  Knowing his vast ego and the terrified look in his eyes somehow she just knew Black would succumb to a vampire’s existence.

            I’m sure once the Assistant Minister of the church reads the note I left on his car this evening he will take action.  Perhaps tomorrow night he’ll finish what I’ve started.  How ironic that the speech I heard him deliver will be his undoing, Riana chuckled to herself.

Who Would Jesus Hate?

Since this is an election year we’re hearing more and more about homosexuality.  Naturally most of it is the same spouting, hate-speak.  Let me state for the record I am NOT gay.  Never have been, never will be.  However, I am NOT willing to promote, vote or tolerate the spit-spewing, hateful rhetoric so common in the media. 

Let’s ask ourselves this question (you know, the title of this post?); who would Jesus hate?  Now I’ll be the first to admit me and the Bible don’t get much time together.  However of what I do know is Jesus went among the “sinners” and taught, listened and preached his values.  He didn’t scream, punch or decry to the world these people should be bullied, beaten or murdered.  If the message wasn’t received he simply stated the consequences of further actions.  And no, I’m not going to write Fags go to hell or some other idiocy.  To my knowledge Jesus lost his temper about twice in the Bible.  Merchants in the temple and so forth.  But he FORGAVE those who sinned against him not gathered his twelve friends together, formed a lynch mob and killed the “sinners”. 

I once heard a really great sermon where the pastor stated (and I paraphrase it); “Christians love to recite the Lord’s Prayer, but really hate that part about ‘forgive us our sins as we forgive those who sin against us”.  So you don’t like gays, fine.  But you have to follow your religion to ALSO include you must FORGIVE those who sin against you or you aren’t going to get forgiven by God.  Two wrongs don’t make a right (but two lefts do).  This means going out and hating is WRONG. 

I hope somebody posts a link for this to the Westboro Baptist Church’s site….

TSA T&A

AUTHOR’S NOTE; The following is a work of erotica, if you’re under the age of eighteen LEAVE NOW or a horde of zombie mice will visit you at night, enter through your ears and eat your brain.

           The airport was crowded with grumbling businessmen, exasperated parents and whining children all pressed together creating a casserole of a bubbling dish of humanity.  Dallas-Fort Worth International Airport also was suffering a malfunction in their air-conditioning system.  Bad enough everyone around (myself included) were angry but we were hot and sweaty as well.  The heat simmered the human-stinking stew that nobody wanted to smell let alone taste.

            I’d been in Dallas for two weeks.  The erotica writers convention I’d attended turned out to be as busy as expected.  However on a personal note it’d turned out to be a bust in the romance department.  Melody, my ex-girlfriend had dumped me for a younger woman—a goddamn red-haired bimbo of a secretary.  She was sneaking around with this woman while I was pounding the keyboard and trying to edit a novel.  So oblivious to what was going on around me I didn’t figure it out until Melody came home, bimbo on her arm and declared she was leaving me.  It hurt.  It hurt a lot and I was bitter, angry and upset.  Not the best of moods to traipsing off to Texas to be surrounded by my fans.  I’d tried to be cordial and polite.  But after the first hour of autograph signing, my books being held straight guys (I have a lot of those kinds of followers) and little old ladies I was pissy.

The gala ball, a formal event on Saturday did little for my mood.  Apparently I was lesbian poison, nobody looked my way.  Maybe it was how I carried myself.  Stomping around the convention floor like a badger with a sore tooth hadn’t helped.  The ball was a bust.  I’d hoped I’d find a distraction at least here in Texas.  Not looking for a permanent thing it had been my hope and dream some pretty little thing might be the perfect salve for my wounded heart.

            Oh well, I thought, at least I’m headed back to San Francisco.

            Standing in the long line at the TSA checkpoint, my long hair frizzing out from the heat and humidity I tried to remain a calm island in a sea of irate, tired people.  Behind me a man was loudly grumbling about the wait.  His blown-up ego, towering self- importance was being prickled like a rabbit in a thorn bush about his missing his flight.  In front of me a woman and her two young children fidgeted, swaying from foot to foot.  The lady’s kids whined, pissed and moaned until I had to concentrate on the sweat trickling down my back before I committed murder.  So I stood there.  Tired, horny and angry in my business jacket, skirt and white blouse trying to forget the humid air and press of bodies.  The line moved forward.  It was just a single step forward, too short to make me cheer but at least we moved.  I wasn’t looking forward to TSA’s tender ministrations.  I’d seen too many online videos about how rude, rough and callous the agents were to airline passengers. 

            “Hey!” I exclaimed when my left bicep was grabbed unexpectedly.

            She was built like a brick.  A few inches taller than me but carrying an additional fifty pounds the federal employed agent appeared to be able to toss me over her shoulder and carry me off if need be.  Her short blonde hair was cut in a men’s style.  Her grip on my arm was firm and chock full of authority.  The woman’s chest was distorting the TSA logo on her shirt and making the pen in her pocket stick out at an angle.  Her “I’m taking no shit off anyone” expression was plastered on her face like a bad Halloween mask.  She wasn’t ugly—just hating her job.  Squeezing my arm and spoke in that cute drawl all Texans have.

“Miss Henderson, you’ve been randomly chosen to undergo additional screening,” the uniformed woman said.

            “Why me, Agent Holland?” I asked her after reading her name tag.

            “Your name was pulled randomly,” she said.

            “I’m not setting foot in that body scanner.  I’ve read online on how they can cause cancer.”

            “That means you’ll have to undergo a full body pat down.”

            “Fine.”

            I didn’t mean for my reply to carry that much sarcasm but it did.  Agent Holland scowled at my words.  I followed her (not that I had a lot of choice) to the side of the checkpoint and into a small room.  Another woman, a small slip of a girl followed us in.  This chick was brunette and didn’t seem happy to do her job.  She kept shooting Holland a look of mild disgust.

            “Put your purse and briefcase on the table, please,” she said, shutting the door.

            I obeyed only because I wanted to get this over with as fast as possible, get on the plane and have a stiff drink.  The TSA agent snapped on a pair of blue latex gloves.  I tried not to swallow like some prisoner seeing the gallows from her jail cell.

            “Place your hands on your head, please,” Holland said, her voice blasé and bored sounding.

            “I’m goin’ for coffee, want any?” the brunette said, her tone quivering.

            “You have to stay,” Holland said, “it’s procedure.”

            “It’s okay, I don’t care,” I replied.

            As the other agent left I put my hands on my head.  With my arms up Agent Holland walked over and began to run her hands down from my wrists to my elbows.  I flinched a bit.  She gave me a smile which seemed to say, “Yeah, I know but it’s my job, okay?”.  Across my shoulders her hands went.  Searching my back I shivered from Holland’s touch, the feel of her wide palms as she stroked me. 

            “Mmmm,” I moaned with hot, quick embarrassment when her hands ran across my ass.  But the sensation of her squeezing and parting the soft cheeks had caught me off guard.  Like I said, I was lonely, horny and a bit sensitive.  It wasn’t an excuse, it was the state of my mind and body.

Holland didn’t seem to hear my comment.  She went about her business and I found myself biting my lip when she explored my legs down to my feet.  I knew what was coming next.  The return trip of her hands would come near my pussy, my neglected and now wet pussy.  Agent Holland stood up, the upward caress abandoned.  When she reached for my chest I know she had to see the fear and excitement in my eyes. 

Oh please, don’t react! I told my nipples. 

Running her blue latex fingers under the wire of my bra I felt those traitorous nubs swell and stand up.  I tried to distract myself.  I examined the ceiling and walls and tried to forget how aroused I was.  But Holland’s hair carried a nice herbal scent, her body’s heat swept over me and her hands were now on my tits.

Oh… fuck…that feels sooooo good.

I felt as if I was about to bite through my lower lip as the agent probed my large breasts.  Whether it was an accident or on purpose I let out a soft, slow groan of ecstasy when her thumb crossed my right tit’s areola. 

“S-sorry,” I said when she looked up.

“You’re gay?” Holland asked.

“Y-yeah, is that a problem?”

“No. I’ll try to make this quick and professional.”

Her answers and questions were spoken in a gruff, no-nonsense manner as if she could care less.  But I caught the slight crinkling of the left side of her mouth.  Her lip tugged upward in a very “Ah, ha!” sort of fashion.  I knew without asking this thick bodied woman wasn’t straight.  She looked like a bull-dyke and my anticipation grew in leaps and bounds.  She was gay—and a very interested lesbian at that.

Her hands released my tits and ran down my flat stomach causing it to quiver in trembling spasms.  Holland knelt and her hand reached my skirt’s waistband and I couldn’t help myself.

I leaned into her.

Hard.

Holland chuckled making her breath whoosh into my stomach making me shudder as if a cold breeze had wafted past me. 

“Been awhile, huh?” she said.

“T-too long,” I stammered out with a moan.

“Poor darlin’…”

She stood up.  I looked into her blue eyes and saw she was also quite excited by my reactions to her touch.  A faint smile appeared on her lips and her eyes unlocked from mine Holland glanced over my shoulder.

“The camera’s on,” she said.  “I’m going to help you out just don’t scream or cry out, okay?”

“I’ll try,” I said my words trembling with arousal.

Still kneeling she lifted my skirt.  My face grew hot, my cheeks warming to the erotic encounter I never expected.  Pushing her latex-clad fingers into my sex I shook from stem to stern.  The smell of her gloves, the pressure on my pussy and the nearness of her lips to my love bud increased my excitement to the nth degree. 

Oh please… kiss it… touch your lips to my pussy, I thought-begged at her.

Agent Holland went behind me leaving me feeling cold and abandoned.  My skirt falling over my needy slit like a bank’s vault door slamming down.  Henderson’s Savings and Loan had been sealed, or so the thought occurred to me.  I wanted to cry.  The feeling I’d be left unfulfilled and sexually frustrated washed over me like someone tossed a bucket of dirty water across my face. 

I was still looking down when it happened.  My body jerked making my tits wiggle when I saw her arms go around my waist.  Like naughty blue spiders her fingers sought out the hem of my skirt once more.  She raised it slow and easy.  Shutting my eyes to concentrate and enjoy it all I managed to suppress a moaning sob when her fingers neared the top of my panties.

I knew the crotch of my underwear was damp from my excitement.  I could feel the air caressing the moist, throbbing spot.  Holland’s fingers pressed on either side of my cunt and I tried not to bend at the waist from delight.  She stroked my pussy.  Tender flicks of her finger across the engorged bud of my clit made me whimper past tightly pressed lips.  My labia were spread.  Holland’s digits were on either side pushing my thick pussy lips and allowing her to run another finger from my slit’s base to the sensitive nub.  Through the material of my panties she caressed me.  My hips bucked and my knees began to wobble.  The TSA dyke stroked me for a few minutes until I was silently gasping for more.

“Just follow me,” Holland said into my right ear.

She walked me backwards, we paused briefly and I felt her sit down.  Her hands never left my sweltering cunt.  Her wet latex-covered digits firmly caressing past the cotton panties and teasing my eager quim.

“Hey!” I exclaimed when pulled into her wide lap.

My legs were spread apart, the left side of my panties bypassed and Holland’s finger slipped inside my pussy.  I leaned forward.  The woman behind me sank her digit as far as it could go into my hungry snatch.  I tried to, but failed to contain my sob of delight when her other hand began stroking my clit. 

“Like that?” Holland said in an amused, aroused tone.

“T-the camera… what about t-the camera?” I mumbled.

“I’ll delete the file.  Just sit back and enjoy.”

“The other agent… what about her?”

“She won’t be back… relax and enjoy it, darlin’.”
            I leaned back and laid my head against her shoulder.  Holland kissed my cheek as she continued to finger-bang me.  Two latex-coated digits now filled me.  Squeezing and pinching my clit Holland made me gasp in hot, heavy breaths until I couldn’t think straight.  I ground my ass against her lap trying to wedge her fingers as deep as possible.  The sloppy sounds of her fingering me, the musky scent of my pussy and the sight of her hands shoved deep into my panties dominated my senses. 

“Oh… no, please… don’t,” I whined when the hand on my clit was pulled away.

“Relax,” Holland said.

I was pushed forward and felt the TSA agent fumbling around her chest.  A big, warm sphere now rested against my back.  Holland pulled me across her lap with the ease of a nurse handling a newborn.  My ass slid across her pants and I hoped I wasn’t leaving a wet spot on her trousers.  In the end I hung there half-on and half-off her closed thighs.  My legs dangling off her right leg, bent at the knee with my feet on the floor of the examination room.  I could feel my long brown hair sweeping against her shirt.  Without warning Holland pushed her massive tit with its erect nipple into my greedy mouth.  I sucked it hard.  My face was mashed against the soft, firm breast and it eclipsed my view.  Holland’s hand resumed stroking my clit and penetrating my pussy.

“So wet… so hungry,” she said about my cunt.  “You’re so nice and slippery.”

“Mmph,” I agreed past a mouthful of tit-meat. 

I tongued her nipple, Holland let out a gasp of her own.  The squishing sounds of her fingers delving into my snatch grew louder and wetter.  My knees fell apart.  Holland’s fingers became more persistent in their actions.  Flicking my clit the woman made me whimper into her breast. 

Oh yes… faster, faster baby… flick my bean f-f-faster! I thought at her. 

I grabbed her tit with both hands making her nipple distort in my mouth.  Squeezing and sucking, licking and nipping I tried to give as good as I was getting.  A third finger was inserted into my puss.  My face fell away from her massive tit, a long moan made my lips vibrate.

“Aaaaaaaah,” I cried out.

Holland stuffed her tit back into my face.  The squishy sounds of her fingers deeply penetrating my cunt sounded like a dog’s greedy gulping a bowl of water.  My inner tissues were spread as far as they could go, my pussy clenched and trembled in pre-orgasmic preparations.  I didn’t want to cum—not yet.  Fighting past the sensations I tried to hold it off.  I wanted a monster orgasm.  Hoping to be launched off her lap like the space shuttle I held back.

“Come for me, baby,” Holland said, her own voice husky and emotional.

No…no, not yet, I thought.

“I wanna feel and see your pretty pussy go ape-shit crazy.  Cum for me, darlin’… cum ever so hard.”

I released the remaining hold on my climax’s leash. 

My body went spastic on Holland’s lap.  It must’ve been what a fish out of water felt like, flopping and wagging its tail in a struggle to go back into its watery home.  Thrashing against the woman’s body I jerked, wiggled, bent and straightened out like some convulsing ER patient.  All the time the big woman kept stuffing her fingers into my slit and rubbing my clit as if to call a genie forth from my sex. 

My lips popped off her nipple. I tried to control my urge to shout to the heavens to let everyone know I was having a killer climax  I just managed to control my voice.

“Aaaagghh… aaaahhh…. Oh. My. God,” I grunted suppressing my need to wail.

“Ooooh, you’re so sexy when you orgasm,” Holland said.

My head lolled on my neck giving me a perfect view of the ceiling which seemed to rock from an earthquake.  It took me a few seconds to realize it was me moving not the building.  Holland leaned forward and kissed me hard, fast and deep.  Our tongues wrestled, she tasted like peppermint gum.  So passionate was the kiss it lengthened my orgasm by two-fold.  Her lips locked on mine, her fingers jammed into my pussy and the shaking of my body was all I knew after a while.  The warm, arrhythmic spasms began as my climax wore down.  I jerked occasionally on Holland’s lap, she held me and kept me from falling off.  I felt like a load of wet, limp laundry.  Just happy to be and nothing more.  She took her mouth from mine but not before giving my lips on last quick peck.

“T-thank you,” I breathed out more than said.

“All part of TSA’s friendly service,” Holland said with a chuckle.

“The service was outstanding.”

“You live in Dallas or Fort Worth?”

“No, San Francisco.”

“A shame. I was hoping to ask you out on a date.”

“Aw, that’s sweet… but I won’t be back until next year.  The erotica writers convention, you know.”

“I know.  I read your books Miss Henderson.  I’m a big fan.”

“What?”

“Can I get an autograph?”

I was stunned.  Climbing out of her arms and off her lap I smoothed out my skirt while staring at her.  Holland’s face was open, honest and could barely contain her arousal.  She handed me a piece of white paper from a pad in her pocket.  Taking the pen out of her hand I started to write before I remembered I didn’t know what her first name was.

 “What’s your first name?” I asked.

“Dorothy.  Dorothy Holland, Miss Henderson,” she replied.

“You can call me Betty.  After all, any woman whose stuffed her fingers up my cunt and made me cum until I’m shaky can’t call me Miss Henderson.”

“Okay, Betty.”

Dorothy’s face turned pink from embarrassment.  I realized she wasn’t prone to this sort of outlandish behavior.  Her shy nature exposed made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.  It wasn’t love—or I didn’t think so at the time.  Yet there was something there, something tangible I wanted to explore. 

“I never suspected you’d let me do that… I’m kinda shocked,” Dorothy said.

“You silly,” I said with a laugh.  “My website states clearly I’m gay.”

“Oh… it does?”

“You knew that… you just wanted to tease me, didn’t you?”

“The computer didn’t pull your name out.  I lied.  I saw you and couldn’t believe it was you.  I told the senior agent I wanted an autograph and he let me pick you out of the crowd.  I knew you were gay, but wouldn’t be interested in a girl like me.  I’m not exactly a swimsuit model, ya know.  At least this way I could touch the woman whose books I adore legally.”

“Why you naughty girl, Dorothy!  Yeah, you’re not my usual type but I do find you attractive—even before your little body cavity search.”
“Sorry, can you forgive me?”

“Forgive you?  I’d like to eat you until you scream but I have to catch this flight.”

“Now who’s the tease?”

“Me, I guess.”

I noticed I’d left a wet mouth print on her right tit.  The desire to pull out her left and make them equal in arousal and moist consumed me.  I couldn’t take my eyes off how her boob was sticking out of her white TSA shirt and hanging over her bra.  Walking over I took a business card out of my purse.  With quick and nervous fingers I wrote down my unlisted phone number along with the one for my cell.  I handed it to Dorothy who’s face went slack with shock.  Her mouth dropped open and this made me happily think how’d I’d like to resume that kiss.  She took the card and I kissed her fast on the mouth.  She surprised me, it seemed only right to do the same to her.

“Call me when you get a chance,” I told her.

“But we live so far apart.  How are we going to get together?” Dorothy asked.

“We can’t I don’t have the cash for a return flight for awhile… do you have a computer?  A webcam?”

“I don’t have a webcam.”

“That’ll have to do.  We can get together online.”

“Phone sex?”

“If you like.  After all I’m a writer.  Just think about how nasty and dirty I can talk.”

I knew she could by her instant reaction. Her face went from a pinkish shame to scarlet excitement at the thought of what I’d say.  She shuddered in the chair making it squeak and creak.

“Maybe we can meet halfway—at a nice no-tell motel…,” I remarked in my best seductive voice.  “You.  Me.  A bottle of lube, several vibrators and no clothing for an entire weekend.  Sound good?”

“Oh god,” she moaned.  “I wish… but I don’t have any vacation time.”

“Well it’s a thought.  I think I’ll put this little encounter in my next book—if you don’t mind.”

“I’ll be a character in one of your novels?”

“If you want I can change your name.”

“No, that’s okay.  Wow!  Wait until I tell my roommate Jill about all this!”

“You do that, sweetie,” I said kissing her on the cheek.

She blushed even redder.

“Are we done here?” I asked.

“Yeah… unfortunately,” Dorothy said with a giggle.

“I’ll be in touch if you don’t call first.”

“I-I will…”

“Thanks, Dorothy.  Thank you for everything.

“It was my pleasure.”

“Mine too.  Just don’t forget to delete that file from the camera over there.  I don’t want to be a star on the Internet.”

“I’ll make sure it doesn’t.”

I walked out of the room, my legs still shaky from my orgasm.  Walking past the other TSA agents I noticed how they were acting.  The skinny brunette who’d left the exam room was all but gagging in repulsion.  She must’ve been in on it.  I worried Dorothy’s job might be on the line if this breeder reneged on the deal she’d made with Dorothy.  The fat guy sitting by the computer, probably the senior agent was licking his lips and leering at me.  The other men were crowded around him their eyes fixated on the monitor.  Their bodies were hunched over like coroners during an autopsy as they watched the instant replay.  Most of them sported wood.  I wondered how many would excuse themselves, go to the bathroom and jerk off.  I laughed.  They looked up, grinned like felons so I gave them a wink and they all got embarrassed.  The people in line were shooting me looks of utter disbelief.  Perhaps my cries weren’t as muffled as I thought.

Fuck ‘em, I thought, strolling past them with my head held high.

I slept like the dead on the flight back to San Fran.

****

            The rest of the story goes something like this.  Dorothy deleted our little escapade from the TSA computers but saved a copy for us both.  It’s supposed to be impossible but I knew better.  The Internet was filled with TSA shots of women’s and men’s nude bodies from the scanner.  As for the file… well, she sent a copy to me.  If I thought getting it firsthand was hot, viewing it was a whole new experience for me.  I watched it twice and masturbated the last time with my favorite dildo.  Plunging it into my sopping wet pussy, watching Dorothy woman-handle me until I climaxed I drove myself to another screamer.  I came as hard then as I did on the monitor. 

Dorothy called a week later.

I talked dirty for three hours.

Dorothy climaxed, half-dozen times—I had four myself.

TSA found out about the entire finger-fucking, tit sucking session and acted accordingly.  Dorothy got fired.   Somebody squealed and I figured it was the homophobic brunette who left us alone.  So jobless and craving me, Dorothy was in a peck of trouble (her words, not mine).

I had no choice.

I flew Dorothy out to San Francisco, let her stay with me under the false pretense for just  awhile so she could find another job and apartment.  She’s now a bouncer at a gay bar and it’s working out for both of us.  We drive each other crazy at night.  Keeping with our first encounter she occasionally dresses up in her old uniform (she kept her spare, I paid for it when TSA was told it was lost) and “searches” me.  Last night she bent me over the coffee table in front of my webcam.  I didn’t have any explosives on (or in) my body but I did have an explosion.  Of the orgasmic kind, I mean.  Howling and screaming in delight I detonated while she reamed my hot, hungry pussy and slid her greased thumb up my puckered anus.  I came hard—my fingers are still shaking on the keyboard—you see, we just finished before I started writing this. 

Shocked?  I write about what we do in bed, on the couch, in the elevator, on the balcony and in the bathroom  To make sure I get it right, we record our antics.  And I do mean everything.  Ours is a no-holds-barred, living on the edge style of sex.  Because of Dorothy and the digital recordings my writing has taken on a kinkier aspect, even my editor has commented about how more real and hot it sounds.  I couldn’t agree more.  It’s been four months and I don’t want Dorothy to move out.  We’re not exactly in love but it’s all good—Dorothy doesn’t want to go anyway.  So who says the TSA don’t provide a necessary service? 

They sure did for this lonely lesbian.

 

Now available; Arcanum Academia!

Arcanum Academia available at Silver Publishing

My new novel is out at Silver Publishing (https://spsilverpublishing.com/product_book_info/new-release-c-1/arcanum-academia-p-343)!   This is my first book with Silver and I’m very pleased with it.  Here’s the blurb to further peak your interest:

 

“Detective Allen Franks and his partner Debbie McMasters thought they’ve seen it all. With a rash of serial killings involving Evans City University coeds murdered in ritualistic fashion what more lies in store? Enter Cassandra Radcliffe, an anthropology major and practicing witch. With the aid of her coven Cassandra tries to scry for the killer’s identity. The sexual rite, the Philosopher’s Ring, is desperate in nature shocking the campus police as well as the two cops. But Cassandra is adamant she can help. Debbie thinks she’s a fraud but Allen has other ideas. But as the body count rises is Detective Franks’ association with Cassandra still professional–or is it turning into something more? Amid all this distraction the serial killer ups the ante. Can Franks and McMasters uncover who’s behind it all or will they have to rename Evans City University to Arcanum Academia?”

Pirating or Lending, you decide.

I recently was introduced by a writer friend about an interview with Neil Gaiman on the subject of Internet pirating of his novels.  Now I’ve always held the belief this was theivery of the highest order.  But after listening to the man talk I began to reconsider my stance on this.  Here’s an article on the interview:

http://www.comicsalliance.com/2011/02/10/neil-gaiman-piracy-lending-books/

Here’s Mr. Gaiman on YouTube talking about it:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0Qkyt1wXNlI

After listening to this I wondered if he wasn’t on to something.  Morally it’s wrong but still…he’s selling more books because of it.  I began to think about my career as a reader.  I discovered David Edding’s “Belgariad” by buying the first 3 novels at a used bookstore.  Mr. Eddings didn’t get any royalties from it but he did get a life-long fan.  I bought everything by him from that point on.  Stephen King was introduced to me in the same fashion.  Also Robert Heinlein, Isaac Asimov and quite a few others. 

So is it really bad?  Free sample books from epublishers are all the rage but you only get a very brief taste of the authors who submit to these.  If your site (a publisher’s site) isn’t getting a lot of traffic then it doesn’t matter, does it?  You could put out the very best ebook on the planet but if nobody downloads it or knows about you then what have you accomplished?  Lending books (something everyone of us has done) is a better way to “discover” an author.  I have a free download here on my site, it gets quite a bit of attention.  My sales have increased because of it.  Now I’m thinking of putting it up on Scribd just to see what happens.  Scribd is the largest free download place on the web (or so I’ve heard). 

So is it lending, pirating or something new we haven’t considered?  Think back to how you “met” your favorite authors.   Did you always buy their books or did you discover them at a used bookstore or from a friend or family member?  If Neil Gaiman’s sales are rising in Russia due to free (pirated) eboks can this be something positive?  Do you think $7.99 for an ebook is a bit pricey for a file?  Should epublishers lower their prices?  I’d like your thoughts on these.

Ciao!

Chris

I’m going to piss you off with this…

A certain website devoted to helping authors has put out their annual “readers” poll and listed the “winners”.  Let’s talk about this for a second.  Here are the points I’d like to make before somebody starts calling me a kill-joy. On second thought that label would be fair because that’s what I am.  Personally I call it being “realistic”, but then again I’m a writer and I play with words for a living.   But then again that’s what my detractors say and most of them are writers too.  But I digress….here’s the points:

 The site is for AUTHORS, not READERS.

  1. How many readers do you know who bother to respond to a poll?  Most of my readers have no contact with me.  So how would they even know about the poll?
  2. Authors are (myself included) pretty much promotional whores (a.k.a. do whatever they can to promote their books). 
  3. Authors have family, friends, co-workers and other authors (and editors) with the same publisher who want to help out.
  4. I’ve seen NUMEROUS posts on authors & staff’s websites about “please vote for me on the blah-blah-blah poll.”  Not to mention Facebook, MySpace, etc…

Those are the only points I’m currently going to make.  So in the end you must ask yourself this question, “Who is voting for these books?” 

I think you’ve come to the same conclusion I have. 

Awards are nice, good reviews are as well.  But I believe in unbiased (not that anything is totally unbiased) merits.  Yes, I’ve won something like this and that’s why I know of what I speak.  As a test I put something of mine up for voting (on this “reader’s poll” in question but I won’t say what poll or when I did this) and only mentioned it on my blog.  I voted and so did my wife.  Guess how many votes I got.

That’s right…two (2).

Surprisingly enough I placed in the mid-teens.

So the next time you see an author stating how well they did at the polls remember this.  Sales are a better indicator of your book’s popularity… not some contest where you can vote (and everyone in your entire circle of friends, family and co-workers can vote too). That’s why the New York Times Bestseller List isn’t called the New York Times Readers Poll List.  However sales aren’t necessarily an indication of how good a book is (for example; Twlight).  If these people cast ballots in your favor but don’t read (or better yet buy) what you pen then is the contest fair? I’m sure there are exceptions to this rule… but I also believe in fairies, werewolves, honest politicians and other mythical creatures that don’t exist.  Anyway here’s a big, hearty congratulations to all the winners you deserve it.

Sort of.

This brings me to another point.  When asked to write something for an anthology by any of my publishers I can crank one out (and keep my usual high quality) in a matter of a few hours.  When I send it in I get the following comment, “Wow!  We didn’t expect this so quickly and be so good.” 

Why is that?

I’ll tell you why.  Most authors spend their entire evenings (or mornings or afternoons) promoting their current work instead of WRITING.  This has become an alarming problem that usually results in what I call Daily Oppressive Promotional Ergonomics or DOPE. 

You’re a writer don’t be a DOPE.

If you spend more than an hour a day on promotion and not one minute writing then you are not a writer but a promoter.  Stephen King in his book “On Writing” says he sets a word count limit of 2,000 words per day.  Personally I can crank out 2k of words in about an hour.  However I’ll spend another hour or so re-reading it and adding to it but that’s me.  What bothers me is when I see writers blogging, “I made my 5k word count today!” all I wonder is “How many k was worth putting on disk?”

However at least they’re writing not promoting.   

Writers write…that’s what we do.  We shouldn’t become so involved with “getting our work out there” that’s the job of a publisher (a.k.a. a good one I should mention).  If you’re publisher isn’t at least sending out your latest release to 3 review sites, including reviews on the buy page to your book, advertising on genre related sites or giving out suggestions then you have a bad publisher.  It takes money to make money so if your publisher isn’t spending cash to reel in readers, why did they publish you in the first place?  These places bank on you suffering from Promotion Marketing Syndrome or PMS to do their job for them. 

Don’t suffer from PMS…it’s not worth the pain.

Quite frankly I’ve stopped with one of these since I don’t see a future for it.  Plus I’m too busy writing…which is what I love to do.  Promoting sucks, spending time away from family sucks worse and giving 60% of my sales to someone not trying to at least shoulder some of the burden goes beyond sucking.  In fact the only thing worse than an indifferent publisher is a Black Hole (for overall suckage that is).

So don’t get PMS and don’t be a DOPE. Find the right publisher for your work and then move on to your next writing project.  You’ll be a happier, more prolific writer for it. And imagine all the free time you’ll have…scary isn’t it?

 That’s my two-cents,

Chris

 PS By the way I wrote this in ten minute and it’ over 900 words long.  Just wanted to make that point.

Review for Deviant Ark

My sci-fi/erotica/romance novel Deviant Ark has gained it’s first review!  Check out what Siren Book Reviews had to say about it!

http://sirenbookreviews.blogspot.com/2011/01/christopher-newman-deviant-ark.html?zx=3b0827bb4aef3e22

Uprising reviewed!

Here’s what Vicci had to say about “Uprising”, BTW it got the Top Pick award too!

Genre: Horror

Reviewed by: Vicci

“Uprising” by Christopher C. Newman is a tantalizing novel of apocalyptic proportions spanning the chaos and ensuing pandemonium that gripes the city of Youngstown located in the heartland of the United States.

Wow, I thought the prequel “Of Blood and Politics” was amazing, this novel is such a full body price of work that it is a must read for anyone who loves apocalyptic sagas.

The novel is set after the enactment of the Supernatural Outbreak Act of 2018; a policy that allows the use of RWC (Reanimated Working Class/Zombies) to be used as slave labor. It seems that some of the populous has been afflicted with a genetic anomaly that results in the reanimation of the dead into zombies, vampires and werewolves. In “Uprising” the novel’s theme is shrouded in the controversial belief that the souls of the zombies may or may not still reside in the reanimated bodies of the dead. There are some activist, ICare, Fear and PETA that believe the latter to be the case and are waging a war on two fronts to have the law repelled.

Trapped within the mayhem that ensues in the novel is Chuck Olsen, mild mannered factory quality control agent. Mr. Newman use of Chuck as the focal point in demonstrating the gravity of the town of Youngstown’s situation was masterful. I love that Chuck is just an average guy dealing with some crazy situations the best way that he can. As the novel progresses there are a number of ancillary characters that are introduced that play a role in imparting key pieces of information, as well as the uncovering of certain hidden agendas.

Mr. Newman does an outstanding job of showcasing the inner lives of the novel’s characters in a way that really allows a reader to immerse themselves in the story-line; their duties at work, conflicts between co-workers and the everyday issues that plague most Americans. These are some of the aspects of the novel that really bring the “Uprising” universe into sharper focus for a reader. The gruesome zombie attacks are vivid in their depiction; Chuck’s jumbled feelings of loss and helplessness at witnessing and/or contributing to the demise of friends are all stark and grisly in their brutality. I would love to see this series made into a movie, it would be worthy of the original “Night of the Living Dead”. The manner in which the novel escalates its story-line to a fever pitch and the resulting aftermath will astound the reader.

“Uprising” presents a reader with plots within plots, alliances, betrayals and brute military force in its telling; it’s a classic horror novel at its best. I highly recommend it.

The Halloween Party

AUTHOR’S NOTE; The following is a work of horror/erotica not intended for those under the age of eighteen.  If you are a minor PLEASE LEAVE NOW!

The Halloween Party

            Tamara Collins looked into the mirror and saw the smile spread on her reflected image.  The black lips parted with ease.  Her teeth shone like evenly shaped polished ivory except the false fangs she wore.  The dark makeup around her eyes made the optometrist bought contacts appear to be even more frightening.  The redness of them caused her to be momentarily startled.  Her face was white, deathly white with only the faintest hint of grayness around her cheekbones to give her a gaunt, hollow appearance.  Tamara’s throat, slender and long flowed into a pair of shoulders both round and firm.  Following a gold necklace which dripped around her neck she took great delight in appreciating how the low cut, black dress deepened her cleavage in a provocative, almost obscene manner.  The image in the mirror brought up its hands and she turned them around fascinated by the costume jewelry rings upon those dainty fingers. 

            “I vant to drink your blood,” she cooed, in a fake Hungarian accent.

            This set of a series of giggling which made the mirror woman wiggle voluptuously.  She let out a sigh.

            “This ought to get somebody’s attention,” she told herself.

            The viewers watched the woman get up.  The big plasma screen in front of them showing her adjusting her dress and hair before snagging a long black coat and an ebony purse with a skull-like clasp holding it closed.  The scene played forward almost inhumanly quickly until it reached the door to a house.  There was a party going on, a wild raucous one at that.  Several of the watchers grunted in parental disgust.

            Tamara watched the door open and saw her best friend Jill standing there attired in a naughty French maid’s outfit.  The costume was scandalous, short and very revealing.

            “Hey Jill,” she shouted over the loud music.

            “What’s up Tami?” the woman hollered back.

            “Just ready to get my freak on!”

            “Well come on in—the guys are hot and the beer is cold.”

            She walked inside and noticed her BFF was already drunk, swaying dangerously on her high heels.  Tamara looked into the room and noticed several of the collegiate men were leering at her.  Their mutual thoughts were plain on their red cheeked faces.  Doffing the coat and letting it fall to the floor she immediately was the center of attention.

            “Hey everyone,” Jill shrieked, “this is my BFF Tami!”

            A rowdy and deep chorus of hellos thundered up from the slowly circling men.  Each face was now alit with false charming smiles trying to hide their lecherous fantasies.  Tamara laughed and curtsied.  The women at the party just waved, hating the arrival of more competition.

            “The big blonde vampire is Fred and he’s mine,” Jill whispered drunkenly into her ear.

            Tamara turned to face her friend and noticed the dancing carnal thoughts sparkling in her deep brown eyes.

            The seated viewers watched as dispassionately as they could while Tamara walked deeper into the revelry, snagging an offered red plastic cup from an admirer.  One of them, an older woman let out a huffing grunt of distain.  Her vocal displeasure only grew more agitated when the beautiful twenty-one year old began dancing to the ear-popping thump of a suggestive Rap song.  Once more the scene increased in speed making the images on the screen bounce wildly until it slowed once more.  Tamara was now engaged in conversation, loudly spoken with a man dressed in a clown costume.  His bizarre appearances made several of the witnesses laugh.  He was dressed in a white full body costume sporting large red, blue and yellow polka dots.  The older woman hissed out of her fear of clowns.

            “So you’re a psych major,” Tamara yelled.

            “Yeah just entered my second year,” the man yelled, stretching the large red lips painted onto his white pancake face.

            “What’s your name?”

            “Zachary Richards…Zack for short.”
            “You know clowns really creep me out.”

            “Sorry I wish I hadn’t worn this now that I’ve met you.  But it was all I could afford since my dorm mate borrowed my last twenty.”

“Why’d ya give it to him?”
“He wanted to take his girlfriend out and was broke so I felt sorry for him.”

“That’s really cool of you.”

“Well that’s just the kind of guy I am.  So you go to Howard State?”

“No I wish I did.  Couldn’t afford it—my folks aren’t exactly rich and I couldn’t seem to qualify for a loan.”

“That’s a shame, you look really smart.”

“Thanks!”

“And in case you haven’t seen a mirror lately, well you’re beautiful too.”

Tamara began giggling and felt a few splashes of beer trickling onto her fishnet stockings.  She apologized but was interrupted halfway by a hiccup.  Zack handed her a black napkin which was covered with bright orange pumpkins. 

He’s a real gentleman, she thought, mopping up the wet spot on her right thigh.

“So can I ask if you’re single?” the clown inquired.

“Totally,” she shouted back.

“Must be my lucky night then.”
“Oh really—so sure of yourself?”

“No you don’t understand.  It’s just you’re really pretty and I thought this party was going to be a mistake.  Instead of leaving early I’m sitting with the sexiest woman in the place and having a wonderful time.”

He’ got a nice face and I just love those big brown eyes of his, she thought.  I can’t really tell if he’s handsome because of the makeup but I’m betting he’s not ugly.  In fact he’s pretty hot.

“You’re pretty hot yourself,” Tamara stated, repeating her last thought.
“Thanks!” he hollered back.

“Look the music’s giving me a headache—wanna step outside?”

“Sure.”

She got up and immediately, accidentally staggered but Zack caught her without groping her body.  She made a mental note of the way he avoided being helpful but not taking advantage of the situation.  Shuffling her feet encased in her black thigh high, long heeled boots she let him lead her to the backdoor. 

The silent viewers began to breathe more rapid while watching them pass the swaying bodies shimmying to the dull, loud thumping music.  A turning glance of Tamara’s revealed the party’s hostess seated on the lap of a man dressed in a vampire costume.  They were locked in a fierce kiss so animalistic it seemed they were devouring each other’s faces.  The images swayed from side to side, the clarity of the monitor was fuzzier.  Everyone seated there in front of the big screen television was acutely aware it wasn’t due to technical difficulties or any static interference.  Suddenly the music faded to a more reasonable audio level and the sounds of crickets rose in the California night air.

Tamara’s footwear began to become troublesome.  Despite the flatness of the back lawn the three inch spikes beneath her heels sank like a fork into a birthday cake.  Each step was a chore of yanking her foot out of the soft loam while sinking the other deeper.

“You okay?” Zack inquired, his voice sounding very concerned for her wellbeing.

“My fucking boots are getting stuck,” she swore, immediately regretting her unlady-like choice of words.

“Here let me help you.”

She let out a surprised squeal as he carefully picked her up and carried her effortlessly to a children’s swing set.  The warm of his touch, the coiled tightness of his muscles and faint smell of his body-wash began to work on her already aroused libido.  Zack set her down on the swing and sat cross-legged in front of her on the lawn.

“All better?” he asked, his red mouth parting in a wide smile.

“Thanks,” she giggled.  “I guess I had too much to drink so soon.”

“Well the night air will help you chase away some of your buzz.”

Her gaze locked onto his face and she felt a frown wrinkle her brow.  He was sitting there smiling but still his hidden, true appearance began to bother her.

“Hey you know this really ain’t fair.  I can’t get a good look at your face because of all that makeup,” she stated.

“Okay let me run out to the car,” he offered.  “But you gotta promise me not to wander off or let some other guy start chatting you up.”

“Oh isn’t that what you’re doing?”

“No!  I’m just getting to know the prettiest girl at the party.  I have no plans other than conversation.”

“Got a weak pimp hand, then?”

He laughed at the phrase and said, “Well I’ve never been too good with the ladies.”

“Perhaps that’ll change tonight—go get that makeup off.”

Those sitting and taking in the sights and sounds shifted nervously in their seats.  A man in the back row coughed.  It was a forced, short sound.  Eyes were turned his way and his face took on an expression of regret.  Turning back to the plasma monitor they resumed their vigil. The orange wigged head of Zack disappeared through the back gate of the fenced in yard and disappeared out of sight.  More of them shifted in their seats.  Anticipation rose and making the atmosphere around them become hot and tense.  They watched while the young man returned with a black makeup case and his face alit with a brilliant smile.

“You took long enough,” Tamara chided him.  “I was beginning to get lonely.”

“Sorry,” he apologized; I didn’t get a really good parking place.”

“Okay I understand.  Hell I had to park down the street because of being so late to the party myself.”

He sat back down on the short grass and opened the case, the lid obscuring the contents from her eyes.  With growing interest she watched him begin to swab his face with a round sponge.  Each swipe of his hand revealed more and more of his true skin color.

Okay so far so good, she thought.

The red nose was plucked off and gently placed in the black plastic container.  His skullcap was removed and the shortness of his buzz cut appeared.  Running a hand through it the jelled hairs stood up from their flattened out state.  More wiping and smearing occurred next until he was staring at her with a face slightly reddened from his actions.

Okay not only is he not bad looking he’s really hot!

“So what do you think?” Zack asked.

“Not bad,” she joked. 

“I’m hurt…”

She laughed.

“Just kidding—actually you’re very handsome.”

He smiled.  It was a boyish grin making her heart’s pace pick up and begin to thump happily against her ribs.  Prudence was pushed aside and she leaned forward feeling her breasts almost spill out of the black dress.  He bent at the waist.  Zack’s face eclipsed her view and they kissed.  A rush of warm turning hot emotions radiated out of the center of her chest.  Her breathing became rapid while their tongues danced.  He shuffled over quite gracefully despite the long clown shoes he was wearing.  Tamara put her arms around his neck and he slid his hands from the sides of her waist.  Zack’s warm palms caressed her lower back making lazy circles which made her body quiver with delightful anticipation.  She tasted beer.  Her nose filled with the strong cloying scent of the Axe body-wash he used.  The soft sounds of their kissing and the metallic creak of the swing filling her ears.

“So sexy,” he groaned, after breaking away from her lips.

“I’m usually not this aggressive,” she commented.

Tamara felt a blush rise on her cheeks and warm the skin beneath the makeup she wore. 

“So are you gonna suck my blood?” he joked.

“Maybe later,” she sighed provocatively.

His face loomed upward and they were kissing once more.  Hands began to roam all over her back and shoulders.  She ran her fingers through his short cropped hair ignoring the transfer of slippery gel onto them.  Their passions rose.  What started out as a simple kiss became more urgent, needy and fierce.  Mutual moans and groans filled Tamara’s ears.  He broke away from her and his expression seemed at bit embarrassed and shameful.  A hurt emotion wrinkled his smooth brow making her quickly wonder what the matter was.

Have I offended him?  Did I go too far? She thought.

“Sorry I feel like I’m taking advantage of you,” he apologized.  “It’s just—well I didn’t think a girl like you would find a guy like me worthy of your time.”

“Hush,” she told him.  “Don’t stop now—and you’re not taking advantage of me, I want this.  I came to have fun and you’re so sweet and polite I didn’t expect to meet someone like you.  I really do like you.”

He leaned into her body crushing her breasts against her ribs.  Their lips locked for a third time and she began to unzip the ridiculously garish costume hiding the hunk beneath it.  She felt her fingers fumble due to the lack of visual aid.  Inch by inch it came undone but she stopped halfway when his hands slid around.  She let out a gasp of happy surprise when he began to cup her tits.

Oh yeah he’s so gentle but so firm, she sighed inwardly.  Ah! His hands are in my bra…oh yes pinch my nipples…yeah just like that.  How does he know what I want before I ask it?

She ran her hand down the smooth mounds of his chest and descended into the rolling ripples of his abs.  Scandalized only slightly Tamara discovered he was wearing nothing beneath the clown getup.  She leaned deeper into the embrace.  Her fingers began seeking the top of his underwear’s waistband.

The watchers shifted uncomfortably while the intimate scene played on in glorious, vivid color.  The room was filled with the soft cries of the aroused couple.  The man in the back coughed once more.  This time nobody dared to turn around to chastise him.  Deep in their minds they were all feeling a bothered by witnessing such a private act.  The older lady put her hand over her crimson mouth and against the paleness of her white glove her lips appeared even more scarlet.

Tamara moaned loudly.  Her tits had popped out of her dress and were freed from the pushup bra she had been wearing.  Zack’s face dropped away from hers leaving her mouth wetly disappointed and suddenly cold.  But the tentative touch of his mouth upon her right nipple sent shockwaves of intense pleasure into her beer saturated brain.  His tongue darted out to wet the protruding bud while his other hand passionately mauled her other breast.  She hugged his face closer to her chest.  Her hand was permitted to deepen its exploration of his costume.  Still she hadn’t discovered the top portion of his underwear.

Is he totally naked under all this? She wondered with a sigh.  I hope so!

Her left breast was released without warning.  Disappointment only lasted a few agonizing long seconds until it was placed on her left thigh.  Sliding up the naughty fishnet stockings she shivered with delight when it entered the darkness beneath her side split dress.  When his fingers brushed against her damp thong she hopped in place.  He laughed softly.

“Sensitive are you?” he muttered around her nipple.

“Been awhile since…,” she started to say but let her words fade away.

He switched his talented mouth from right to left and began suckling her other nipple.  The air surrounding her moistened aureole grew cool from his abandonment.   She felt a pout’s short lifespan be born and then die upon her lips. 

Oh god if he’s this good with my tits I can’t imagine what he’ll do to my poor pussy, she excitedly pondered.

A shiver of inflamed anticipation ran up her spine like someone dragging an ice cube along it.  Her thoughts were scattered when her thong was expertly bypassed and her pubic hair was stroked.  She moaned loudly.  Zack never looked up but kept to his tender oral ministrations.

“Oh yeah, baby,” she groaned.

“So hot, wet and ready,” he announced.

“Touch me.”

She felt his fingers move down, lingering only briefly at the very edge of her nether mane.  She bit her lip, the sharp pain spiking into her mind just before Zack pushed a padded tip of his digit against her swollen clit.  Tamara leaned forward shoving more of her breast into his mouth as she tried to increase the fondling pleasure.

“Interesting reaction,” he murmured.

Her breathing filled her ears.  It was a hot rush of wind bursting past her parted lips only to be replaced by her quick inhale.  Her heart thundered, her chest heaved and the cleft between her thighs became damp with hot juices.  He began outlining the edges of her labia.  Fluttering touches which traced her pussy but never enough to penetrate or satisfy her burning desire.  From the trembling top to the dew soaked bottom he continued to lightly stroke her.  She tried to wiggle, to force Zack to accidentally slip and sink his digit into her hot confines.  She groaned in frustration when her efforts didn’t produce the desired, badly needed result.  The caresses continued but only stoked the fire of her arousal.

I can’t take it…stop teasing me, she gasped to herself. 

She opened her mouth to beg, no demand he stop teasing her.  Before she could utter even a ghost of a word his finger swirled around her moist opening just before plunging delicately inside her slit.

Tamara’s thin wail of pleasure echoed briefly in the backyard.

More movement of the embarrassed and aroused audience became apparent.  The creak of leather cushions, the scrap of chair legs and the hushed grunts of discomfort began filling the room.  Yet their eyes were locked upon the viewscreen despite it only displaying the top of Zack’s head.  When the top of the man’s skull moved away it brazenly showed the naked firm roundness of Tamara’s quivering breasts.

“Oh my,” said one of the men.

He was immediately the recipient of fast, angry glances.  Slinking away by scooting down in his seat he was properly chastised.  The irritated faces turned back to the erotic scene and their expressions went from anger to slightly disgusted excitement.

Tamara’s questing digits finally found the short curls of Zack’s pubic hairs.  She twisted them around her fingers in a lazy manner until she grew quickly bored with this game.  She let out a quick hissing noise when her partner spread her wet labia and inserted another finger into her pussy.  She squirmed, wiggled and tried desperately to increase their probing to a deeper, more satisfying depth. 

Please more… come on I need this so badly, she whined to herself.  I can take more…just a bit deeper…oh yeah that’s right… touch me there, yes there.  Oh fuck! Oh fuck!

His palm came to rest against the soft mound of her cleft.  Tamara removed her hand from the inside of his costume.  The warmth of his palming hand made her lean back until her arms were stretched out and her hair dangled almost touching the grass.  She sucked in great sobbing breaths while he shifted his grip, his thumb grinding gently against the hooded button of her clitoris.  She planted her feet on the ground and her long heels sank deeply.  Lifting her quaking bottom up off the swing’s seat she spread her legs wider.  Zack rode with her movement.  His mouth and hands never gave up a single inch to her pulling away.  A grunt of approval eked out from around her captured nipple.

“Oh yes,” she moaned.  “Yeah baby rub me…get me off and I’ll do you.”

He mumbled something into her tit.  Her breath exploded from her loosely gaping mouth and she began sobbing without forming words. 

Oh fuck yeah, she thought excitedly, he’s rubbing my G-spot, my clit and still sucking my tit at the same time… damn what a lover!

The creaking noise of the swing began to sing a strange discordant accompaniment to her ragged gasps and deep throaty moans.  His breathing whistled out from around the loose seal of his mouth on her tit.  A powerful sensation began to grow exponentially from between her trembling thighs, vibrate all the way up her backbone and make her brain become overloaded from their intensity.

The crowd tried to keep their hands to themselves.  Fingers intertwined and knuckles turned bone white from clutching together so harshly.  No more coughs interrupted their viewing pleasure.  No additional commentary was necessary, the only constant sounds were the squeaking creaks of leather cushions and soft heated breaths.  All eyes were focused on the screen.  Lips were occasionally wetted by nervous flicks of darting tongues.  The erotic viewpoint played on…

It built to a rapid crescendo.  Between the alcohol, her long neglected body and the she found herself succumbing to the rushing tide of her rising orgasm.  Her legs began to shake violently, her arms quivered even more than her legs.  She could feel her ass dancing, flexing and shivering while he continued to thrust his fingers in and out.  The rubbing of her clit became more pronounced.  The mouth sucking at her left nipple switched to her right making her cry out in a stammering sob.

Oh fuck!  I’m g-going to cum… oh yes come on, come on, she inwardly chanted.

She exploded without warning.

Thundering up from her overly stimulated pussy to instantly transfer to every quivering extremity her climax roared through her.  Her head fell back giving her a perfect view of the stars above.  The twinkling lights far above her multiplied when her eyes crossed.  A ragged shriek tore past her lips and filled the night with the sounds of her ecstasy.  Not missing a beat Zack continued to pleasure her.  Deeper and faster his two fingers plunged into her depths.  The pad of his thumb ground against her clit producing wave after wave of delight to burst from her tormented loins.  Each jerk of her hips grew more powerful until she was forced to sit back down.  Her muscles unable to keep her aloft and permitted her to concentrate on her orgasm without distraction.  Her cries softened in volume.  Lessening from blubbering sobs of high pitched screams to low guttural grunts punctuated by each stroke of Zack’s fingers.  Finally she sat up, peeled her sore and cramped fingers from around the chain links and pushed Zack away.  Her body swung forward.  She watched her breasts heave up and down while she fought to return to a more normal breathing rhythm.  Her nipples gleamed with his spit, her pussy throbbed from the aftershocks of her pleasure and Tamara almost began crying from the intense reaction.

“Are you okay?” Zack asked softly.

“Y-yes,” she stammered, “I think I’ll be all right.”

She raised her head and brushed away the silky tresses of her hair which was obscuring his worried expression.  Reaching out she stroked his cheek.  Zack leaned into her caress and turned his face to kiss her palm.

“You are amazing,” she gasped.  “I can’t imagine how you could top that.”

He didn’t speak.  She sagged to the ground, her heels pulling out of the loose loam.  Struggling to keep her balance she watched him stand up.  Suddenly his crotch was in her face still hidden by the white costume with the blue, red and yellow polka dots.  Her fingers trembled when she reached for his zipper.  He took a backward step but her hand grabbed the cheap material halting his steps.

I’m going to have to really give him my best, she thought, I can’t let him get me off so easily and not do the same.  It’s a matter of pride after all!

The zipper made a metallic ripping sound when Tamara pulled it down to the very base of its toothy track.  She reached into the darkness of his costume and found him.

He was limp, soft and not aroused.

 Anger flashed into her brain as she spread the fabric to visually confirm what her fingers where telling her.  She stared into his eyes.  Zack was embarrassed and a bit angry and the two emotions played across his handsome features without a true winner being declared.

“What the fuck?” she snarled.  “How can you be limp?”

“I-I’m sorry,” he apologized profusely.  “I thought this time would be different… I really think you’re hot but…”

“Are you a fag?  What the fuck is wrong with you Zack?  You make me cum so hard I nearly faint but then show no interest at all!”

“I don’t know why… I have this problem…”

She cut him off in mid-sentence with a hot reply.

“Fucking homo!  What do you think you were doing?  Hoping you could force yourself straight by making out with me?” she spat out.

“No it’s not like that,” he said, backing up.

She watched his hand go behind his back and without warning grabbed his arms by the elbows.  Tamara began shaking him.

“I should’ve known,” she cursed loudly.  “Every hot guy is either a queer or a bastard.  Sometimes I think I just ought to turn gay so I can get laid more often.”

Zack yanked his arm out of her grip.  His right hand flashed across her vision and a hot burning sensation erupted under her chin.  The burning line stretched from ear to ear.  She began coughing, gagging and struggling for air.  Blood sprayed out of her lips and clouded her vision momentarily.  She tried to back up but her body began to weaken and her traitorous heels sank deep into the turf.  Her hands tried to stop the hot scarlet flow while a coldness, from both her fear and loss of blood chilled her limbs.

W-what the fuck?  Why did he do t-that? She gasped in her mind.

“You have to understand I can’t help myself,” he stated in a pleading voice.  “I’ve tried and tried but no matter who I’m with I just can’t get it up… not with a live girl anyway.”

She fell suddenly.  Her vision was once more filled with the blackness of the night and the stars above.  His face came into view as he stepped around her left side.  He was clutching a long thin knife in his hand.  She watched her blood drip off the sharp tip.

“I’m sorry, really I am,” Zack stated softly.  “But this is how it has to be.  There’s no more denying it.  You are very beautiful Tamara and I’m going to enjoy our time together for the rest of my life.  For as long as it lasts.”

The watchers sat in stunned silence.  No longer did they shift in their seats or husk out hot breaths.  The violently swift attack had ripped out the very soul out of those staring at the thirty-six inch screen.  The older woman began softly sobbing.  Her hitching cries were silently shared by all present and they let her vocalize the horror they all felt.  They watched as the video feed continued on.  The sound was muted making every noise sound like it was occurring underwater.  Zack picking up the body while Tamara’s dying brain recorded all his efforts.  She was set beside the makeup case and her dead eyes were accidentally fixated on him while he reapplied his makeup.  The red nose was put back on.  The case was snapped shut.  Once again her body was picked up and carried but this time her murderer was walking out the back gate.  In seconds she was gently laid into the trunk of Zack’s car.  Just before the lid was shut the images ceased playing.  The cold yet sorrowful face of the killer was frozen as Tamara’s brain stopped taking in everything. 

The lights came back on. The men and women sitting in the double rows blinked and rubbed at the shooting pains from the sudden illumination.  They watched as a man stepped up in front of the screen.  His face was a mask of anger.

“You have just seen the recovered memories of Tamara Collins and witnessed the last hours of her life,” the prosecuting attorney stated. 

He pointed to the despondent man sitting in an orange prison jumpsuit the same shade as the wig he wore on that fateful night.  His face was lowered and he was hiding his eyes from the irate stares of the jury.

“Forensic evidence has concluded that Zachary Richards did, with full awareness of the illegality of his actions, take home Tamara Collins’ corpse and sexually abused it for seven days.  Even when he was apprehended by the police, during a routine traffic stop he did willfully cling to it until he was subdued by pepper spray and handcuffs.”

A low grown issued from the throats of every person in the jury box and the somewhat remorseful young man began sobbing uncontrollably.  His shoulders shook up and down but he still didn’t raise his gaze to meet his peers.

“I ask you to take everything you have seen which was recovered from Tamara’s memories by the latest forensic technology,” the lawyer stated.  “The cold blooded murder and the events up until poor Tamara’s brain finally died cannot be refuted.  That man over there did willingly cut a young woman down in the prime of her life.  Clemency is not an option.  The State of California seeks the death penalty for such a brutal crime and the deplorable acts that followed.  We will provide expert testimony to how these images, sounds and thoughts were retrieved from the victim’s deceased brain.  Doctor Emil Lorenzo from MIT will show you without a doubt this evidence is beyond reproach.  The Memory Download Software was developed in his laboratory and fully funded by the Justice Department.  From the grave Tamara Collins has given testimony of the events of that night.  I know with all you have seen that you will see to it Zachary Richards will never commit either murder or necrophilia again.  I have full confidence that you the jury will find the defendant guilty on all charges.”

 

Of Blood and Politics gets reviewed!

Night Owl Reviews was kind enough to take a chance on “Of Blood and Politics”.  It was given 5 out of 5 stars and the below honor as well:

Here’s what they had to say;

Reviewed by: Delenn

“Of Blood and Politics” by Christopher Newman, is an edgy trip into the unbelievable propelling the reader into a compelling spellbinding glimpse into the future of the world as an unknown phenomena takes shape across the world.

I would love to see this prequel to the “Uprising” novel developed into a movie. Wow! “Of Blood and Politics” is a riveting accounting of the events preceding the massive outbreak of 3 very unnatural genetic mutations among the world populous and the local and federal governmental responses; seen through the events of lives of the novel’s hero and heroine, John and Rosalina.

Mr. Newman has crafted an exceptional apocalyptic tale brimming with vivid descriptive narrations of everyday life in typical Los Angeles and the foreboding of things to come. The level of detail he uses in his portrayal of everyday life occurrences really allows the reader to embrace the calm before the storm tone of the novel.

The novel begins on a very realistic tone as Rosalina Martinez, a recent nursing school graduate sets off on her first day of work at Los Angeles Memorial Hospital. What should have been a typical day quickly turns into a step into the twilight zone. There were sections in this half of the book that were both sad and heartwarming. Mr. Newman takes great pains in his depiction of the atmosphere within the oppressed Los Angeles neighborhood where Rosalina lives, which I really appreciated. Her character development allows the reader to understand the driving forces that have sustained her during her tireless efforts to do more with her life. I really connected with Rosalina aspirations for the future; though she could have allowed herself to be swallowed up in the oppression of environment and follow the path of her childhood friends, her resolve to be and do more really resonated as the story progresses. On a side note; I just loved how the novel really plays up the government conspiracy theory as Dr. Taylor attempted brow beat Rosalina’s mother.

The novel wastes no time in establishing its rhythm and really kicks into high gear as the reader is introduced to John Allen Benedict, a certified public account on the threshold of marriage who’s having first, second and third thoughts about the rightness of the marriage. At first John appears to be a normal average guy just looking to live a happy life with a wife and a couple of children, until a fateful night when everything changes. I really enjoyed this portion of the book; the level of detail surrounding the events of john’s life after that night really pushed the novel to a new level of anticipation of what will happen next, for me. The events of John’s life in those pages were truly similar to the early works of a Stephen King novel; the scenes just grab the reader and refuse to let go. Excellent!

I found it surprisingly easy to feel both sympathetic and skeptical about the plausibility of Harry James Bartholomew’s version of a utopia where both humans and non-humans would be able to live in relative peace. The thought of equal rights for all, really showed that while Harry may have been the oldest and wisest of the coven, he may not have been the most practical. Mr. Newman really touches into the human condition in showing the contrasts between Patrick fanatical approach to a world under his rule and that of Harry’s more methodical and controlled approach. Having John play a pivotal role in the impending internal struggle within the coven allowed the reader to appreciate john’s catalytic sacrifice in the coming storm. The novel takes great pangs in its depiction of the manner of how power corrupts absolute, how the desire for power lives and thrives in us all, how fear of the unknown can cause even the most level headed to slip into a much darker place and how even in the worst of times, there can be love and hope.

“Of Blood and Politics” is an excellent prequel that delivers an exciting beginning that really leaves the reader wishing for more. I Loved it and highly recommend it.

Here’s the link to where you can buy your own copy!

http://www.darkroastpress.com/uprising3.php