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….

When She Was Good…

When She Was Good...

Silver Publishing has released my psychological thriller (non-erotica) novel “When She Was Good..”.  This novel is a departure from my using writing not because it’s a non-erotica (been there, done that) but because the subject matter resonates within my own life.   Here’s another blurb for it:

Patricia Marlowe wakes up in a strange hospital without any memory of how or why she’s there.  To make matters worse the 20 year-old college student doesn’t even know her name until her best friend Eddie Conti finds her.  Eager for information she listens as he starts to fill in the blanks.   Patricia was searching for her twin sister Pam, who’d disappeared from their Ohio home a week ago.  Nobody’s seen or heard from her since. Eddie says Pam is the wild child of the family.  Naughty to Patricia’s nice. 

Pam the bad girl.

Pam the amateur adult film star.

Pam her sister.

But Patricia can’t remember anything.  The amnesia and concussion she has only clouds things more.  As Eddie talks she fears Pam is in trouble—deep trouble.  She and Eddie embark on a quest to find her missing sibling, a woman who hates her and everything she stands for.  What Patricia finds is more than she bargains for.  Will she be able to save her twin or is it too late? 

You can find this at: https://spsilverpublishing.com/product_book_info/new-release-c-1/when-she-was-good-ebook-p-704

Sylvia’s Initiation: Blue Existence and Red Lust now available!

The first two parts of the trilogy of Sylvia’s Intiation are currently for sale at Sizzler’s Editions (http://shop.renebooks.com/default.asp).  The three novels explore the dangerous, slippery slope from those experimenting with sex after a upbringing in a strict religious enviroment.  Sylvia, a nurse by profession is unhappy with her single status and her view on how all men seem to be after is sex.  To her, sex is dirty and humiliating act only meant for the procreation of the human race.  But a chance encounter with a college professor starts her down this new path.  Will Sylvia go too far?  Or will she cast off the shackles of her impressionable years and embrace sexuality for what it is?

Sylvia's Initiation: Blue Existence

Blurb for Sylvia’s Initiation: Blue Existence

Erotica noir at its darkest and most disturbing. Sylvia Meyers, a nurse who was brought up in an orphanage.  Sylvia seeks true love and scorns the those only interested in sex.  But that all changes when she meets visiting professor Nick Dekker.  Nick is open, honest and very experienced.  Sylvia finds herself intrigued by his matter-of-fact attitude towards sex.  She decided to let him teach her.  Nick helps Sylvia break through the Catholic upbringing even after she regresses after a particular terrible dream.  Sylvia becomes a sexual explorer.  Straight, anal, light bondages and multiple partners are experienced.  Each one permits her to delve deeper and deeper into sexual awareness.  Sylvia also unwittingly becomes a slave to erotic sensations. Can she break the addiction – and should she if she can?

Sylvia's Initiation: Red Lust

Blurb for Sylvia’s Initiation: Red Lust

After discovering her lover was a con-artist, Sylvia takes her hatred towards men to new heights as she begins to experiment in bondage.  Like a moth to a flame Brian Henson is caught up in Sylvia’s web of erotic torment.  In addition to Brian, Sylvia “recruits” her co-worker, Tiffany comes over to witness Brian’s punishment.  During the heat of the action Tiffany finds herself wanting to submit to Sylvia’s sexual domination.  Lives, pleasures and punishments begin to become woven into a dangerous tapestry as Brian and Tiffany vie for Sylvia’s attention.  But Sylvia’s Catholic upbringing once more rears it’s ugly head.  Is Sylvia damning herself or is it all just her imagination?A passionate and wildly erotic tale of sexual initiation by a master of BDSM erotica!   If you liked the first book, SYLVIA’S INITIATION I, then you will absolutely think that this new book in the series is just as hot – if not even hotter!

The Photo Shoot

AUTHOR’S NOTE:  The following contains adult situations and languages.  If you are not of legal age (ala eighteen) get out now!

Barbara Mentor sat on the blanket.  Beneath her she could feel the sandy from the beach spreading out, deepening to form-fit the contours of her knees, shins and feet.  Five feet away was Zack, the photographer for this shoot.  He was fiddling with his camera with a caution resembling an archeologist handling a priceless specimen.  To her right, just out of camera range was Roger, Zack’s assistant who was clutching a round disc covered in a foil-like, space age material.  His job, or so she’d been told was to reflect the faint rays of the moon onto her body for better lighting.  In reality his job apparently was to ogle, drool and fantasize about her.  He was fat-faced, having basset hound-like jowls which quivered and shook when he spoke.

What kind of pigs do this for free?  Well, I guess I know that answer now, Barbara said to herself, trying to keep the smile on her face. 

Thinking back to the phone call last week Barbara knew this could be her big break, a once-in-a-lifetime offer to grace the cover of a new magazine.  A first issue nonetheless.  It would probably end up a collector’s edition and she would be eternally remembered as the first model on the cover.  But there were no guarantees.  The magazine could flop—just another periodical failing to live up to its hype and not finding a niche in the marketplace.

But Zack swore this wasn’t the case.  From what he said this is a first in the world of magazines!

She’d done a bit of research before agreeing to the photographer’s offer.  There were, as one could imagine millions of magazines dedicated to the country’s (even the world’s) obsession with the supernatural.  But none of them came close to what Zack had told her about the publisher’s intentions to capture subscribers.  Innovation was rare in the business.  Copies of copies flooding the stands (or on the Net) of the same old thing were out there.  Imitation was the sincerest form of flattery but after a while it became too much.  Like trying to listen to thirty radio stations it became a hodgepodge of imagination devoid of noise.

But not this one.

Moonlight Magazine wasn’t anything like the periodicals she found on the Web or the bookstores.  While gothic magazines (from the bizarre to the tame) could be subscribed to this one didn’t show any signs of its more common brethren.  First off, it was funded by a major Hollywood actress.  Debbie McCain, the brunette bombshell of the Slaughter Isle franchise (there were now six flicks out) had put up the cash for it.  Known as the Scream Queen Deluxe, McCain reputation in Tinsel Town was spotless—both on and off the silver screen.  Her first director proclaimed her, “The best talent I’ve had the pleasure of directing” while others remarked about how “natural the camera enjoyed her”.  The second difference was the magazine’s dedication to only the best horror writing tinged with “just a kiss of erotica”.  Big names were penning tales for Moonlight.

Zack, finishing up his adjustments to his precious camera began to survey the surroundings, ponder the lighting and begin to bark out orders.  Roger All-Eyes (as Barbara began to think of him) was shifting around, slinking into another position with his porcine eyes still pegged to Barbara’s bikini-clad figure.

“Okay,” Zack said, “Barbie untie your top and twist about thirty degrees towards the camera.  Hold it so it doesn’t fall off all the way.”

“Zack,” she replied, “don’t call me Barbie. How many times do I have to tell you that?”

“Sorry, sorry I keep forgetting.  Just do what I want, babe.  This is going to be fun-tastic!”

Gritting her teeth at the mangling of the word fantastic, something Zack was prone to say Barbara began tugging off her tiny, blue top.  Looking over at the fat, squatting form of Roger he began to resemble some hideous mixture of a Doctor Seuss illustration and a lifetime subscriber to Hustler magazine.   Trying not to glare at the pervert she undid the strings of her top, catching it before her breasts were fully exposed.

“Great!” Zack said, “hold that pose!”

Jumping around like he had been kicked in the groin, Zack began snapping off pictures.  Barbara held her position, ignoring Roger’s leering. 

“Okay, put the top aside—twist away from me and give me a pouting, almost embarrassed look, Barbie.”

Choking back the urge to repeat her request about her name, Barbara did as she was instructed.  Zack was leaping and hopping, going from standing to squatting positions the photographer cheering and complimenting her as he worked.

“Great!  Oh, that’s super fun-tastic!”  Zack said, oblivious to his ramblings.

“Yer so hot,” Roger said in a thick muttering voice as if he had just swallowed something thick and gooey.

“Shut up, pervert,” she whispered without moving her lips. Her ire was growing weed-like from the way the man was staring. 

“Damn, we’re losing the light,” Zack said in a grumpy tone.  “I guess this will have to do.”

“What do you mean?” she inquired, the shoot was ending way too soon.

“Got the before pics… now gotta shoot the during and after shots.”

“The what?”

“I told you… Moonlight Mag is different.”

“I don’t… hey, who the hell are… oh my god!  Y-you’re Debbie McCain!”

Barbara hadn’t seen the horror movie star walk up but there McCain was in all her dark haired glory. 

I’m not gay—but damn! She thought.

Debbie McCain was tall, gorgeous and possessing a figure too perfect to be real.  She was wearing a simple dress, purple in color.  Around her waist and propping up her chest (not that they needed it) was a black corset with lavender frills and lacing.  Debbie’s dark eyes were deep liquid pools and Barbara was reminded of the well on her dad’s farm.  Gazing at McCain’s eyes was just like that.  Cool and faraway like the glimmer of water at the bottom of a well.  But her smarts showed through amid all the beauty.  Her intelligence was hidden yet not.  Resembling some secret hidden in plain sight, only someone observant (and Barbara considered herself to be this way) would notice it. 

It’s in her eyes you can see it, Barbara said to herself.

“This is our first cover girl?” Debbie said.

“Yes, what do you think?”  Zack said.

“She’s pretty… she has a vulnerable look to her and that’s perfect.”

“So you approve?”

“Most definitely… you’ve done well, Zack.”

“T-thank you.”

“You’ve earned your paycheck.”

“I’m so happy…  I can’t tell you…”

McCain’s movements, supple and swift cut Zack’s sentence off short when she put her finger to his lips.  Barbara saw the magazine’s financial backer glance over at her.  Still sitting on the blanket, still hiding her nipples with her hands Barbara watching the other woman smile sent a shockwave of hot electricity throughout her body.

She came over, walking as if gliding across the sand.   Her feet not sinking into it, or not at least to the depths which Roger, Zack and herself had.  Just indentations like footprints near the ocean line washed away by two or more waves.

“You’re a pretty one,” Debbie said, touching Barbara’s face as she knelt in front of her.  The gasp was more of a sigh when it oozed past Barbara’s lips from the woman’s caress. 

“Thank you,” Barbara said, her voice sounding far off.

“Yes, you’ll do so very nicely…”

“I will?”

“Of course, darling… of course.”

“Ah!  H-hey!”

Barbara words tumbling out of her mouth like drunken clowns exiting a carnival car when McCain’s fingers began stroking her left nipple.  She flinched away at first.  Then, without thinking about it Barbara was leaning into the light caress.  The view of the woman’s face narrowing from Barbara’s half-closed eyes.  The touch was like velvet pleasure.  As if the sensation could be woven into a soft fabric lightly charged with static electricity. 

“So excitable,” McCain said, her voice a throaty coo.

Barbara looking down saw the nipple between Debbie’s fingers had grown erect.  When she saw the other hand of the woman reach out for her right breasts Barbara, to her surprise found herself leaning towards it.

“Aaaaah,” Barbara said with a groan.

“Soft… aroused… glorious,” McCain whispered.

Barbara’s began to feel like she was drowsing on a raft in the pool.  Her skin heating up as if from the sun’s rays beating down on her.  It wasn’t until she tasted peppermint did Barbara realize Debbie McCain, the Scream Queen Deluxe was kissing her.

Touching her.

Fondling her.

McCain’s fingers were past Barbara’s bikini bottom, caressing, teasing and pressing against the wet, warm delights in Barbara’s nether region.  Dipping in, stopping only to swirl in lazy, light circles Debbie’s fingers stroking the inner walls of Barbara’s pussy. 

I didn’t even feel her hand leave my tit, Barbara mused.

Debbie’s prolonging kiss heating up Barbara’s body had yet to be broken.  When the starlet’s hand departed her nipple to curl around her back Barbara moaned in Debbie’s mouth.   In and out, swirl and stroke, kiss and be kissed became so alluring, mesmerizing Barbara could only enjoy it. 

“You are perfect…,” McCain said in a husky voice after pulling away her seductive mouth.

“Yes,” Barbara said, her tone sounding drawn out with a “don’t stop” tone to it.  The way the woman was affecting her, despite not being a lesbian hardly seemed to matter.  McCain was doing it, that seemed to be the only thing which mattered.

“Oooohhh…. Yyyyesss,” Barbara said with a loud moan when Debbie began nuzzling her neck. Far in the background, a million miles away she could hear the snap-wind of Zack’s camera, the gasping breathing of Roger the Pervert.  But none of this, nothing in the world could annoy or anger Barbara at this moment.

 “Ah!” she said, her voice a quick, raised expulsion of breath.  Hot points grew like flowers on her neck.  Debbie was slurping, kissing and licking the now sensitive flesh on the side of Barbara’s throat.  The pain diminishing like the dying refrains of a thunderclap’s echo.  Rippling and crinkling down to nothing it went. 

I smell… blood? She thought.  The iron-rich scent curling up into her nostrils sparking a tremor of fear.  The gulping jerks of Debbie’s throat giving Barbara rapid-fire ideas of what was happening.

“No!” she shouted, trying to pull away.  No amount of pussy stroking would bring her back to her previous, hypnotized state.  Icy fear replacing the hot passion she’d felt moments before. 

“Get… off… me!” Barbara shouted.  Finding her strength futile against McCain’s steel banded arms Barbara began screaming for help.  Sharp teeth gnashing against her throat sent more agony across Barbara’s neck. 

“Zack!  Get this crazy bitch off of me!”

“Hardly,” he replied.

“No, no, no you’ve got to stop… it hurts… it hurts so bad!”          

“Easy now,” Debbie said softly, as the cold tiredness began emulating from Barbara’s neck.  Weaker and weaker, like the frantic thrashings of a drowning sailor Barbara beat against her foe.  Her eyelids felt like closing garage doors—and she didn’t have possession of the remote.  Her hips, the traitor’s they were still bucking against Debbie’s quickening fingers.  Before the darkness swept over Barbara her orgasm drained the remainder of her strength. 

****

“How do you like them?” Zack asked Ms. McCain.  They were looking at the downloaded pictures from his camera on the lap top.  Seated in Zack’s SUV he watched Ms. McCain’s eyes caressing the images.

“Perfect… a grand layout for our first issue,” Ms. McCain said, ignoring the snapping of bone and the smacking the ghoul Roger’s lips.  Barbara’s body was being disposed of.

“And my payment?”

“Immortality?  When you complete your contract with us.  I believe you have another twelve issues.”

“Yeah… that’s right.”

“Reality, that’s what our readers want—and that’s exactly what they’ll get. Real pictures, real death and real beauties.”

Zack found himself repressing a shudder of fear.

 

               

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?”

Eye of the Beholder

AUTHOR’S NOTE; The following is a work of erotic/horror not suitable for persons under the age of 18.  If you’re not this old, get off my site!  What are you doing reading erotica?  You should be outside playing or even going to the mall.  Geez, some people’s kids…

            Harold held the phone in his hands.  He could feel its cool plastic bouncing against the side of his face in trembling jerks.  Licking his dry lips he listened to it ring, his heart racing so fast he began to worry it would burst through his rib cage. 

            I should hang up, he thought.  This is desperate, too desperate even for me.

            The indecision raged like a war in his skull but fate intervened when the call was answered.

            “Hello,” a woman’s sexy voice said. 

            Harold’s voice caught in his throat like a half-swallowed piece of chicken.  The lady’s voice was throaty, sensuous and a bit amused.

            “Hello?” she restated.

            “Ah… hi,” Harold said squeaking out the words.

            “What’s your name?”

            “H-Harold… Harold Carter.”

            “Hello, Harold my name is Melaina what’s your pleasure this evening?”

            Harold swallowed hard.  The effort was accomplished by a jerky bobbing of his Adam’s apple.

            “I-I really don’t know how to answer that,” he said.

            “Oh my,” Melaina said, her tone filled with more amusement, “Is this your first time, Harold?”

            He felt a hot chill (a contradiction in itself) wash over his body.  Goosebumps were dimpling his arms and sweat beading on his forehead from what she asked.

            “Y-yes,” he said, a nervous chuckle punctuating the end of his statement.

            “I promise to be gentle,” Melaina replied.  “Tell me, Harold what are you wearing?”

            Another swallow later he told Melaina of his warm bathrobe and soft boxer shorts.  It was a quick expulsed description lacking in many details like a child lying to his parents about who broke the expensive vase in the living room.

            “W-what are you…,” Harold said with a shiver.

            “… wearing?” Melaina said finishing his query.  “Practically nothing at all.  I’m sitting here in a black, silk robe, it barely reaches my mid-thigh.  It’s so hot here in the city I’m completely naked underneath it all.”

            Gulping and closing his eyes Harold tried to speak but the mental images of Melaina (if that was really her name) lounging naked in only a bathrobe made him giddy and weak.  But it was her voice tainted with just a hint of some non-American accent which really fired his thoughts.

            “The fan,” she said, “is blowing across my body.  The cool air is making my nipples hard.”

            “Oh…,” Harold said in a gasp more than a sigh.

            “I’m uncrossing my legs, I’m so hot down there—ah, that’s much better.”

            Harold couldn’t speak again.  But to his relief Melaina kept right on going with what she was doing.   

            “I’m so lonely, Harold.  It’s been ages since I’ve been with a man.  A real man.  Tell me, Harold—are you a real man?”

            “Y-yes,” he said parting his robe with shaky fingers.

            “You sound like one.  A bit inexperienced but I ever so love being someone’s first lover.  Would you like me to describe myself?”

            “Please…”
            “I’m tall, even for most women.  My hair is black, thick and very soft.  It’s a bit curly and falls to the middle of my back.  If I wanted to I could cover my big breasts with it.”

            “Please don’t.”

            “I wouldn’t do that to you, Harold.  My tits are so big and firm.  My poor nipples are the size of quarters and they’re begging for you to touch, kiss and suck them.”

            Harold fumbled around his boxers but finding his now raging hard-on wasn’t difficult despite his anxiety. 

            “My tummy is flat,” Melaina said continuing on with her description. “I have a navel piercing, a diamond.  Oooh, look how it glitters in the soft light of my apartment.  I’m reaching down further.  My fingers are just now touching the soft down of my pubic hair.  It feels so good to caress those delicate curls.”

            “Yes,” Harold groaned.

            “My pussy is wet.  I can see it glistening like morning dew on the grass. Should I touch myself, Harold?”

            “Yes.”

            “Oh that’s nice… I’m so very horny, Harold.  My poor cunt has been neglected for far too long.  Ah!  I have a finger inside it.  Ooooh… so soft, wet and warm my pussy that is.”

            Harold began to stroke his cock with his hand.  It shuffled up and down in quivering jerks.  Melaina moaned in his ear.  It was a long drawn out rasp of sexual need which sent erotic sparks up in his imagination to burst into lusty fireworks.  Her accent grew more pronounced but he couldn’t put his finger on where it was from.

            “I’m spreading my long legs… putting them over the arms of the chair… yes, I’m wide open now… Ah!  I put another finger into my cunt… so full now.  I wish it was your cock, Harold.”

            “M-me too,” Harold said in a too fast voice.

            “Are you jerking off?  God, I hope you are.  I can see it… your hand roaming up and down on that nice piece of meat rising in your lap.  I want to suck it… taste the salty sweetness of the pre-cum gathering at the very tip.”

            Harold searched his brain for a response.  It was a frantic tossing of replies but like someone going through their dresser for a favorite shirt with no time to be delicate he found nothing to say.

            “I’m squeezing my left nipple with my other hand,” Melaina said.  “Ah!  That was a bit too hard… but it felt really nice.  Can you hear me fingering my pussy?  It sounds all wet and sloppy—hungry, that’s what it sounds like.  It’s hungry for you meat, Harold.”

            Only a gasping whine came past Harold’s lips.

            “Mmmm,” Melaina said in a groan, “I just sucked my pussy juices off my dripping wet fingers.  I tasted marvelous.  Do you want to fuck me now?”

            “Y-yes,” Harold said stroking his cock and licking his dry lips.

            “I’m letting you crawl between my splayed legs… Oh, you’re big.  Be gentle with me, Harold… Oh!  That’s it… slide it in nice and slow.  Oh God!  I feel so full.  Don’t thrust so hard just yet.  Oh! Ah!  That’s it, baby… a nice easy pace…”

            Harold squirted some lube onto the palm of his hands and resumed masturbating.  His nervousness gone, replaced by carnal desire which heated his body like nothing had ever done before.

            “Oh… God!” Melaina said, crying out, “You’re all the way in me.  So good… so hard… so big… fuck me, Harold.  Fuck me until I scream.”

            His hand blurred across the stiff erection it held.  Melaina’s moans husking out of the phone’s earpiece and exploded in his brain.  He could see her, open and welcoming his cock in his imagination.  She let out a small cry—he grunted in response.

            “Oh Harold,” Melaina said.  “Y-you’re wonderful!  A-are you sure this is your… first time?”

            He couldn’t respond.

            “I-I’m going to cum… are you going to… cum?” she said in a throaty warble.  “Please cum with me… it would be so… nice to cum together… Harold, cum with me.”

            “Yes,” he said in an excited shout.

            “Oh fuck me, Harold… squirt your hot cum in my pussy… I-I’m going to… oh yes, I’m about to… oh Harold, I’m c-coming!”

            Her lusty voice rose from a husky contralto into a thin scream of ecstasy.  Harold’s imagination painted a picture of some ethereal creature, an angel perhaps writhing in pleasure and impaled on his lap.  His legs straightened out and his heels dug into the carpet of his apartment.  Harold’s body went rigid, his muscles locking up like he was having the most delicious seizure.  While Melaina let out a continuous stream of soft cries Harold ejaculated all over his knuckles and his left thigh.

            “Oh… Harold… Oh f-fuck yes… Harold, I came… I came so hard for you, baby,” Melaina said in a thick groaning voice.

            “I did too,” he said in a tired tone.

            “I’m so glad.  Was I good?”

            “Y-you were perfect… I’m happy I called you.”

            “I’m glad you called too.  Do you want more?  I’m still horny… I’m always horny for you, Harold.  Would you like to suck your cock?  Or perhaps you’d like to take that nice big piece of meat of yours and fuck my tight ass?  Tell me what you want… I’ll do anything for you, baby.”

            “No,” Harold said after a few seconds of deliberation.  “Not this time… but I’ll call back.”

            “I’d like that.”

            “C-can I ask for you?  I really like your voice.  It’s so warm and wonderful…”

            “Sure, I’d like to see you again.  Just tell the woman who answers the phone you want me.  Do you want me, Harold.”

            “Oh god… yes.”

            “How sweet… I’ll be waiting for you, Harold.  Remember this call will be billed to your credit card, okay?”

            “I understand.”

            “Goodbye,  Harold… sweet dreams…”

            The line went dead and Harold hung up the phone.  The sticky remains of his climax began to make his skin itch and grow tight.  He stood up in the darkness and felt his way to the bathroom.  In his mind, he felt like Melaina hadn’t hung up. 

            Maybe it’s just a fantasy but I could swear I feel her presence, Harold thought.

****

            This time the phone rang and Harold wasn’t so nervous.   He told the operator he wanted Melaina and she told him he’d have to wait. 

            Is she with another man? He wondered.  Why should I feel jealous?

            He knew in the logical side of his mind it was stupid for him to feel this way about Melaina.  She was, after all a phone sex employee not some girl he’d met at a club or out shopping.  Despite the agreement between his logical and emotion side Melaina was nothing but a whore he still couldn’t stop how he felt.  Emotional whirlwinds of love, hate, need and jealousy swirled around his skull like two primal forces dancing in the desert heat of his carnal desires.

            “Hello?” Melaina said, interrupting his thoughts.

            “It’s me, it’s Harold,” he said.

            “Harold, you called back?  How sweet of you.  Did you miss me?  I know I missed you ever so badly.”

            “Yes, I missed you.”

            “Oh, that’s so adorable.”

            Her tone was condescending at all.  Harold knew she really meant it as sure as he was of sitting in his apartment in the dark.

            “Your voice it’s got an accent I don’t recognize.  Just a bit of one.  Where are you from?” he asked a bit nervous about getting personal.

            “Ah, not many of my callers hear that.  You must have excellent hearing, Harold.  I’m from Greece.  But I came to America a long time ago,” Melaina said with a wisp of amusement.

            “When did you come to the States?”

            “Harold, if we waste time talking about my past you’re bill is going to be outrageous.  Wouldn’t you rather hear what I’m wearing tonight?”

            “No… I don’t care.  Are you really from Greece?  I’ve never been to another country before.  Well that’s not true, my parents and I went to Canada once.”

            “I’d never lie to you, Harold.  Yes, I’m from Greece… born and raised there until I left.”

            Harold’s mental musings went into overdrive.  He could see her getting on the plane, her long curly hair blowing in the Mediterranean breeze in some Greek airport.  The sun making the bluish-black mane she possessed to sparkle in the sunshine.

            “Harold, I’m wearing a soft pink teddy today,” Melaina said.

            “Which part of Greece are you from,” he replied interrupting her.

            “Harold, let’s get on with this.”

            He didn’t like the tone of her voice now.  It was a bit angry and too demanding they get down to business and forget all the personal questions.

            “I’m sorry,” Harold said, “but I just want to know more about you.  I haven’t stopped thinking about you, Melaina.  I know it’s been a week but you’ve been haunting my dreams.”

            “You dreamed about me?  How utterly sweet,” Melaina replied with a throaty chuckle at the end.

            “Every night.”

            “What do we do in your dreams, Harold?”

            “We… talk, go out for coffee or walk in the park.  But we’re always happy.”

            “Now Harold, really do you expect me to believe you don’t dream about fucking me?”

            “Not most of the time.  It’s true!  I swear it!  I would never lie to you, Melaina.”

            His admission of truth ended and the woman on the phone didn’t speak right away.  Harold’s heart hammered against his chest like a caged animal desperate to break free. 

            Have I screwed this up?  Maybe I shouldn’t have told her about the dreams, he thought.

            “Harold,” Melaina said, her tone sounding a bit exhausted, “You’re a sweet guy and all, but honey this is a job.  My employers might fire me if I don’t make you happy.  Get it?”

            “But you are making me happy,” Harold said, “does it matter of I have an orgasm or not?”

            “Well I suppose…”

            “Where are you from in Greece?”

            “It’s a small isolated village just outside of Meteora, near Mount Olympus. It’s called… do you really want to hear this?”

            “Yes!”

            “I don’t see why.  I lived alone for a long time without any friends or family.  Look can we just get on with the sex?”

            “No.  Why did you leave?”

            “I was… lonely.”

            The word came out slow like some freed prisoner finally seeing the light of day.  Her accent softened as she said it.  Harold could hear the anguish in Melaina’s voice and it was a feeling he knew all too well himself.

            “Are you still lonely?” he said.

            Melaina didn’t answer at first.  He could hear her breathing on the other side of the line and he found he was holding his breath.  A full minute (and $9.95) went by before she spoke again.

            “I… yes, I’m still lonely,” Melaina said.

            “I’m so sorry,” Harold remarked, “you sound so beautiful.  You’re voice is wonderful.”
            “Few people who met me would say I’m beautiful.”

            “I’m not as shallow as them.  I could listen to you read the phone book and be totally captivated by it.”

            She laughed.  Melaina’s laughter was rich and full.  

            “You’re just too sweet,” she told him.

            “Look,” Harold said, “I know this is highly inappropriate but I’d like to offer you a job.”

            “Pardon me?”
            Melaina’s response was filled with both disbelief and suspicion and her accent vanished amid the words. 

            “I run a company specializing in audio books for the blind,” Harold said, ignoring his inner voice telling him to stop.  “We’re the biggest company in the business and I’m always on the lookout for voice talents… talents you most definitely have.”

            “A job?  A real job not some excuse to get me alone so you can live out some sick fantasy?” Melaina said.

            “Absolutely.”

            “Can I think about it?”

            “Sure!”

            “Okay, I promise to consider your offer.  Now do you want to know what I’m wearing?”

            “I’m all ears.”
            As Melaina started to describe in vivid details how the teddy clung to her big breasts and tickled her pussy Harold felt he’d won a major victory.

****

            She was angry.  He could tell it in the heavy footfalls as she entered the apartment that his Mother was very, very upset.  Harold didn’t bother to turn around when she entered the studio flat.

            “What the hell is this?” Mother said in clipped, irate tones.

            “What is what, Mother?” he said.

            “You have wracked up a huge charge on your credit card for some… oh my god, a phone sex number?  Harold, have you lost your mind?  How long have you been doing this?”

            “First off, it’s my money.  Second off, it’s really none of your business but for your information I’ve been talking to a woman for three months now.”

            “A woman?  More like some gutter-dwelling, toothless whore!”

            “Melaina is not a whore, well not technically and she is most definitely not toothless nor does she live in a gutter.”

            He heard her stomp over and fling herself into a chair.  The creak and groan of the seat told him she hadn’t lost an ounce despite being on a new diet.  A diet, he had suggested to her after Mother’s doctor told her to lose some weight.  But tipping the scales at three hundred pounds years of gorging on rich food wasn’t going to stop overnight.

            “Harold,” she said, her voice tired, “your father and I have gone along with all these crazy schemes of yours.  Luckily the audio book thing has paid off.  But really, do you think I’ll stand idly by while some ugly slut you met on a phone sex line robs you of every penny you’ve made?”

            “Melaina isn’t ugly and I’m not wasting my money,” Harold said, “Even if I am, it’s my money to spend.  Not  yours.”
            “You’re going to throw that in my face, aren’t you?”
            “I’ve paid off the house, bought you both new cars and made sure Dad’s employer didn’t stop his pension.  As far as I’m concerned this is my business and not yours.  The sales of my audio books are up and growing more everyday.  In fact, Melaina has a unique vocal skill which I plan on using for a particular genre we just picked up.”

            “Sex books?”

            “Erotica, Mother it’s called erotica.”

            “Filthy, disgusting and depraved is what I call it.”

            “Sex sells, Mother.  Even the blind like to read about it.”

            “It’s vile.”

            “So is your butting into my finances.”

            “You dare!”

            Harold didn’t bother to turn to face her, what was the point?  Mother had made up her mind and nothing short of a visit from Jesus Christ would alter it. 

            “Well,” she said, “if that’s the way you’re going to speak to me then I don’t see any reason to continue this conversation.  But mark my words, when this whore takes you for every cent you have don’t come crying to me.”

            “I trust my judgment on this,” Harold said, keeping his voice even and stoic.  “In fact, Melaina is going to visit the studio today and I hope to make her an employment offer.”

            “She’s going to what?”

            “Work for me.  She’s too fine a lady to be spending her evenings talking sex with strangers.”

            “You’re hopeless!  Utterly and completely hopeless!”

            Mother strode out of the apartment like an angry rhino charging at some African tour bus.  The slamming of the door was the punctuation on her stormy exit.  Harold didn’t care, he was smiling.

            Melaina’s coming to the studio, he thought.  I need to get ready.

            It had taken two months to get her to talk about the job offer.  Another two weeks had gone by before she’d accept his business number to call and get the details.  She’d investigated him on the Internet.  He knew, without a doubt the last time they talked Melaina would have no more reservations about his offer.  He’d proven his worth.

****

            The phone rang and she answered it.  Melaina’s voice came over the line as rich and sexy as before.

            “Hello, Harold,” she said.

            “I can’t believe you,” he told her.

            “What can’t you believe?”
            “You didn’t show up!  I waited all morning and half the afternoon to give you the grand tour of my studio and then offer you a very lucrative job offer for nothing!”

            “Harold, you’re upset please calm down.”

            “No, I’m not calming down!  Why did you do this to me?”
            Melaina let out a heavy sigh. There was something in that sound he didn’t expect to hear at this late date in their relationship.  It was the trembling note of fear.

            “Why are you afraid of me?” Harold asked.  “You’ve done the research, saw my website and know I’m no fly-by-night operation.  So why are you scared, Melaina?”

            “It’s just this,” Melaina said in a guarded voice, “if something is too good to be true, then it is.”

            “You think I’m scamming you?”

            “Harold… I don’t know what to think.  The web has stories about you.  How you never are seen in public and how you shun the limelight despite the riches and fame you’ve earned from your business.”
            “There is a reason for that. A very good and understandable reason for why I don’t go our in public.  But I’m not going to tell you over the phone.  I wanted to meet you in public where you could feel safe. How can I possibly get you to understand I mean you no harm?”

            There was a half-sob which bubbled out of Melaina’s end and came over the line tearing a gouge in Harold’s heart.  It was filled with distrust.  Not just some anxiety of a phone sex operator in fear for her life but something much more.  This was a deep-seeded terror of Melaina’s.  Something only years and years of abuse could bestow on a human being.

            Was she sexually abused?  He thought.

            The details were scarce but it was painfully obvious someone had done something to the someone he loved.  This fired his temper but he managed to keep it under control.

            “Melaina,” he said soft and low, “please hear me out.  I will not show up if you promise to come to the studio, meet with my production manager and tour the facilities.  Will you do this?”

            “You promise you won’t be there?” Melaina said.

            “I swear I won’t.”

            “O-okay.”

            “But why are you afraid of me?”

            “It’s not you I’m afraid of but myself.  Our time together has been sweeter than spring wine and I’ve come to treasure it.  I fear the reality of the situation would destroy what I feel.  I know I’m jaded.  Too many years of being ridiculed and mocked by people in my hometown finally drove me out.  I took this job because nobody can see me.  Then here you come into my life.  With sweet words and gentle emotions you’ve penetrated my defenses and given me hope again.  I will not stand by and watch that hope be cruelly shattered when we meet.”

            Harold’s breath hitched in his chest like some emotional hiccup.  He knew it!  From the very first time they talked, he knew Melaina and he were destined to be more than just phone sex buddies.

            “You feel it too,” Harold said, “don’t you?  That instantaneous connection the very first time we talked.  I know you did.  I felt it too and it’s too strong and true to be just coincidence.  Melaina, even if this relationship doesn’t pan out we can still be friends.  I won’t yank away my employment offer.  You can still work without being in public but I promise you the wages, benefits and hours will be all you deserve.”

            She started to cry.  Melaina’s wet sobs tore deeper claw marks in Harold’s heart until he too began to weep.  For a time, a brief minute or two they said nothing.

            “I’m so scared, Harold,” she said.

            “Don’t be, Melaina… please don’t be frightened of me.”

            “None of my relationships have ever survived the first date.  I fear for you… the man who I’ve come to treasure more than life itself.”

            “I know… I love you, too.”

            He heard the gasp Melaina let out.  It was a sigh gasping out of her and breaking down the walls of her emotional battlements. 

            “No,” she said, “I cannot let this be.”

            “Darling,” Harold said, “I don’t think you have a choice.  Fate or destiny has linked us together and no matter where you hide I’ll find you.  If it means my death, I’ll tear the world apart and hold you in my arms.”

“You don’t know the dangers you risk.”
“I don’t care.  Where danger is being faced that’s were life is being lived.”

            “Oh Harold…”

            “Melaine, please come to the studio.”

            “No.  But if you don’t mind I’d like to risk coming to your apartment.  If this is going to die an ugly death I don’t want it to be in public.”

            “How soon can you be here?”

            “Give me an hour.”

            “It will be the longest hour of my life.”

            “You’re so sweet… and I pray you’ll understand when you see this cannot be.”

            “I pray you’re wrong.  Hell, in fact I know you are.”

            She hung up without saying goodbye but Harold knew Melaina would show this time.  Despite this unknown tragic ending she so feared Melaina couldn’t resist the power of the love they had for one another.  He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. 

            This is the first day of the rest of my life… a life I know I’ll share with Melaina.

****

            Harold paced his large apartment from one end to another.  The phone call from his mother had been the only time he hadn’t walked the floors.  Mother’s reaction was, of course predictable when he told her Melaina was coming over.  Harold hung up on her when she went into a shrieking demand he not let the woman in.

            The doorbell rang.

            Harold hurried over. He collided with the end of the couch sending shooting pains into his hip.  Staggering over he undid the locks and swung the door open.

            “Hello, Melaina,” he said.

            “Hello, Harold, she replied.  “You don’t look much like your picture on the website.”

            “Disappointed?”

            “No, actually you’re much more handsome.”

            “Please come in.  Can I get you something to drink?”

            “A glass of wine, perhaps?”

            He escorted Melaina inside.  She took a seat on the couch while he walked over to the wet bar.  His hands trembling so much he succeeded in slopping the liquid over the rim of the glass. 

            “You have a nice place here,” Melaina said.

            “Thank you,” Harold said, hearing her set something down on the end table.

            Carrying the wine over he handed to her.

            “Thank you,” Melaina said.

            Harold took a seat on a recliner near the couch.  He didn’t want to frighten her off by sitting too close. 

            “Still scared?” he asked.

            “Not so much now.  You seemed to have left out a few details about yourself,” she said in her rich Greek-accented voice.

            “It’s my curse.  I’ve been this way since birth.”

            “I see know why you shun public speaking.”

            “It doesn’t bother you?”

            “No, in fact it’s a bonus—one that alleviates most of my concerns.  I’m a bit vexed with you for not telling me sooner.  Harold, I think I can say with a lot of confidence this relationship stand a wonderful chance.  Do you think so?”

            Harold started to reply when he heard someone come in to the flat.  The weight and sound of the footsteps identified the intruder better than seeing her.

            It was Mother.

            “Harold!” his mother shouted.  “What do you think you’re doing?”

            “Mother, please go away I’m entertaining a guest,” Harold said warning her off.

            “I will do no such thing!  A-ha!  That whore is here!  Well let me give you a piece of my mind you dirty tramp.  Nobody is going to…”

            Harold heard her stomp into the apartment a rehearsed speech forming on her lips. Without warning his mother’s voice stopped.

            “Please!” Melaina wailed, “Don’t come any closer!”

            A shriek rose from his mother.  It climbed from the depths of her soul low and ominous until it reached an apex of shrillness which all but shook the walls of the apartment.  There was a creaking sound.  Like rock crumbling on a cliff face about to send some climber to his death.  The scream cut off in mid-voice.  Jumping to his feet Harold ran to his mother, his arms extended towards her.

            “Mother!” he shouted.

            His hands encountered a face of stone.

            “I’m so sorry!” Melaina said.  “I tried to warn her not to come in!”

            “It’s all right, Melaina,” Harold said.  “She was always butting into my business.  Mother thought she knew what was best for me.”

            “But how can we explain…”

            Harold reached over and caressed Melaina’s face, it was smooth.  Perfect, in fact. Stroking her cheek he pushed his fingertips into the full richness of her curly hair.

            “No snakes?” he said ending with a chuckle.

            “No snakes,” she answered.  “My mother had them but her children were spared that part.  It’s my eyes… I usually keep them hidden.”

“You took off your sunglasses, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”

“I heard you set them on the end table.”

            Melaina walked into his arms.  A warm and very feminine shape which seemed to fit like it was molded for his embrace. She was just a bit taller than him.  But somehow that excited rather than disappointed him.  Melaina’s ample chest pressing against his throat indicated all sorts of delicious possibilities.

“You’re a gorgon, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I’m a child of Medusa.  I’m afraid I’m much older than you.”

“I don’t care.  I still love you.”

Harold felt her body quake and she kissed him soft and tender.

“I love you too,” Melaina said.

“Then you’ll marry me?”

Harold heard her gasp in surprise.  Melaina began squirming in his arms.  They came face to face.  He felt tears rolling down her cheeks to wet his own.

“I’ll outlive you…,” Melaina said.

“I don’t care,” he replied.

“You have captured my heart, why quibble over such trivial details such as how long we’ll have together. Say you’ll marry me, Melaina.  Make me the happiest man on the planet.”

“How can I resist such a sweet offer?  Yes, I’ll marry you, bear you children if I can and stay with you until you die.:

“After that?”

“I’ll look at myself in the mirror and become a statue to stand guard over your grave.  We’ll be together for all time.”

“That makes me so happy… happier than I ever expected to feel.”

 “My sweet, blind Harold.  I do think this is a match made in Heaven.”

“Or at least on Mount Olympus.”

She laughed that wonderful laugh.  He kissed Melaina and wondered exactly where he could put the new statue.

Maybe in the den, Harold thought.

           

           

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