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Tuesday, December 20, 2011

It's like the Great Wall of China up there...

I'm talking in my head.

The writers block. The wall is so high that if you cut my skull open, I'm sure it could be seen from space.

But I'm not going to complain - not now. Because it's Christmas, and it's a tough one already. Not one day has gone by this month that I haven't cried. But that's to be expected, right?

I know my dad would want me to go on - to have the Christmas spirit and continue all the traditions that we've established.

We're lucky we got the tree up this year.


My mom can't listen to any music - hasn't been able to since he passed. When she's not home, I put on the carols. Try to get some Christmas spirit going.

We used to have a "war" in the house - Jimmy Buffet's Christmas Island v. The Carpenters Christmas Album. Guess who's was who's? It kind of left the kids in the middle. My brother didn't care too much. Me? I love both.

So I've been listening to both.

Now, unfortunately, I don't know how to put something up on youtube. And my dad's favourite Jimmy song isn't on there. It's called Merry Christmas Alabama (Never Far From Home). I'd love to put it up here for everyone to listen to. (If anyone can figure out how I can do that, please LMK).

What I will do is put up one of my favourite carols - sung by the incomparable Lea Michele (yes she's on Glee, but her vocals are just incredible).





Hopefully I can find a way to make a few more posts before the holidays are over.

I think it's what my dad would have wanted.

Merry Christmas, every one.

Monday, November 28, 2011

EPIC Fail....


*hanging head in shame*

Ok, so in my last entry, I was determined to finish NaNoWriMo. I was set on my path that I was going to accomplish something this time around.

I am sad to report that this wasn't the case.

Not only did I not complete NaNo - I didn't even get it started! I haven't written one word all month! And I am so ashamed.

Unfortunately, reality - as much as we'd like to shove it aside - does get in the way. And in my world, that reality consists of a whole lot of family issues, two jobs, health problems, and general mental breakdowns. The latter of which are happening way too often for me to be comfortable with. I mean, I have no issues with admitting I'm a little nutsy-fagan. But lately I've begun wondering if I should be measured for the lovely white jackets, and put in a request for a decorator for my local rubber room.

It's nothing for you to worry about, my dear friends. I'm not going to go stereo-typical crackout and climb a clock tower with a rifle. And I don't have any desires to cause myself any harm (or others for that matter).

I just tend to float in and out of reality for awhile each day. My brain shuts off far more than I'd like it to. I'm convinced it's a defense mechanism. But against what - I'm not too sure.

I do plan on getting back into the swing of it all. I have a few submissions that I need to get in order for their deadlines. I promised myself I'd get to work on my website. And I do have to choose my next class.

Christmas is coming - that in itself brings a whole lot of family issues this year. And, I hate to say it, I'm dreading it's arrival. It's my first one without my father, and my grandfather (who's been in hospital for almost three months) might not be here to see it. It's going to be a tough one, that's for sure.

So, while I didn't accomplish my goal this year, I'm going to forgive myself. And promise to do better next year.

Tuesday, November 1, 2011

It's heeeeeeere.....


And so it begins.

Yes, it is November.

Yes, it is NaNo time. (NaNoWriMo for those of you who just got back from Guam).

That one month of the year where anyone who fancies themselves a writer frantically puts pen to paper, fingers to keyboards, and heads to desks in an effort to complete the daunting task of finishing a novel (50,000 words) in 30 days.

Are YOU one of those brave souls? This year, once again, I will be one of them. Maybe this year, I'll finish.

For the third year in a row, I accept the challenge. Now - accepting and completing are two totally different things. Because, as with everything we WANT to do, reality gets in the way with things we HAVE to do.

Like work. Job #2 requires that I sign my soul away for ten days every November. Sleep and I become estranged, as do nutrition and I. I learn to survive on five hour energy drinks, many jolts of caffeine in different forms, nicotine, and sugar - lots and lots of sugar. All in all, once the 14th of November hits, I will have completed, between BOTH my jobs, about 130 hours of work - give or take. Which isn't bad if it was evenly spread out throughout those ten days. But it's not.

And then, factor in daily requirements - laundry, general housework - which somehow multiply in those ten days, and find the time to socialize with family where the conversation consists of more than monosyllabic grunts of "Hi." "Fine." and "G'night."...well, you see where I'm going with this.

All in all - real life does not want me to complete NaNo. But damn it! *I* want to finish NaNo this year.

And so I shall.

Somehow,

someway.


Someone said to me "But you finished NaPoWriMo. Surely you can do this." Ummm, well...did you see the word count requirement? FIFTY. THOUSAND. WORDS. National Poetry Writing Month was free form - really, the only rule was to write a poem a day. No word count.

This task is a little different. More of a challenge. More frightening, more daunting, more, everything. But I shall persevere.

I. SHALL. CONQUER.

To all my fellow scribes participating - I wish you the best of luck. If you are participating and you want to be writing buddies - you know, for moral support, bitching, and all that - just look me up.


My writing name? Angellz - of course. :D

And let's start this month off with a rocking anthem - cuz I'm gonna Do Things MY Way.



Take it away boys.



Wednesday, October 19, 2011

Don't Pay the Ransom!

That's something I will always remember my father for. Whenever he & my mother would come home late, he'd enter the house with "Don't pay the ransom! We're home." And it never failed to make me smile.

So, honey - I'm home.

(kicking off shoes and sitting with a glass of wine) Would you like some?



I know it's been almost three weeks since a posting. Real life does tend to get in the way of things we really want to do sometimes. My hats go off to Sommer Marsden, Aisling Weaver, Alison Tyler and the whole lot of lovely, sexy ladies that keep us knee deep (or higher) in seductive prose and erotic tales. I'm almost done my fourth class towards my publishing certificate, and I'm finding out that editing is hard work. I mean, I didn't think it was sunshine and roses, but neither did I realize what a complex process it is, that needs to be handled delicately lest you bruise the writers fragile ego.

However, I'm finding out PDQ that becoming an editor - a successful one - might not be in the cards for me. I don't quite have the analytical mind that is required to sharpen, and examine, the various elements that will make a story publishable. (I keep getting stuck on premise - for some reason, while I can get it straight in my head, it doesn't follow through on the paper).

I think I might be ok with that. If nothing else, these classes will sharpen my skills as a writer, and show me what type of editors I will need to hire when (not if) I open my house.

Until then, I am quite happy with the work I produce. As few and far between as the pieces are right now, next week is my final class, and then I will have two months in which to spend all my free time writing ( you'll have free time? who are you kidding?)

Gleep!

So the voice is right. Between two jobs, Christmas fast approaching, family stuff to deal with, and of course, mapping & planning out my website, the house business, etc (and let's not forget your aim to actually FINISH NaNoWriMo this year...), free time will be scarce.

But there should be enough time to finish a WIP or two and get started on a few pieces I plan on submitting.

So, thanks for still being here. It means a lot. I promise to be home more.

But, next time, you bring the wine.

Tuesday, September 27, 2011

When the Zombies hit - I wanna be doing Sommer...

Oops - I mean - I wanna do what Sommer will be doing. What will that be? you ask, eyes straining to see your screen, inching forward on your chair. You're wondering - does she have the answer for the Zombie Apocalypse? 

We shall see.....




Hurry! The zombies are coming! Do me!

I do understand those who can’t grasp how zombies (or other scary stuff) can mix with erotica. I guess those are the people who would be all “hurry the zombies are coming! Get the photo albums!” (Maybe not for real, but it sounded good).

Not me, I’m a visceral person. I’ve more than once said, even after just making a big hoopdie doo over my 4 year no smoking anniversary, that if I’m ever diagnosed terminal, I’m smoking my way out of this world. I will, in fact, most likely light a carton of cigarettes with a blow torch whilst drinking red wine right out of the box with a crazy straw.

So yes, if the zombies are coming, I want to get laid one more time. If there’s high stress, do me baby. If we might all die this week, I want to get down and dirty as often as I can before I possibly shuffle off this mortal coil. 

So, yes, laugh if you will, but the sex in these books are often touched with not just emotion but stress, anger, fear and urgency. Which can make for some mighty fine sex—you’ll know that if you’ve ever had that kind of sex. Especially when, as in the zombie exterminator books, you have a group of four friends who like to mix it up in the sex department.

I mean, come on, there are zombies all over…and by book three they are…mutating. So grab as much nookie as you can. You never know when your ticket’s getting punched. At least that’s how the exterminators feel. (And their inventor if you must know ;) )

So how about you? Do you want your photo albums or one more roll in the hay. Or the shower. Or the potting shed. Or the…[fill in the blank]. Comment and be entered to win your choice of the zombie exterminator books on pdf.

XOXO
Sommer



Poppy's birthday should be a big, fun, sexy deal. And it is, until the zombie exterminators find out that the creepers in their neck of the woods happen to be switching the game up a bit. They have a new nifty trick that keeps them from being readily recognizable. Something poor Poppy is unlucky enough to find out on her morning run. She goes from fantasizing about her birthday foursome with the boys, to running home to spread the bad news of mutation.

Her big day is suddenly full of machetes, a lady from the CDC and news of a new vaccine that might—or might not—work. Lucky for Poppy the boys won't let the new turn of events ruin her birthday, they still take her where she needs to go. Because all four of them know, every day could be your last. Sadly, Garrity, Cahill and Noah can't control what happens next. Things change, possibly forever, for their little group of exterminators. And over the next few days Poppy realizes a few things with perfect clarity: she loves Garrity, the thought of losing one of the boys terrifies her, and she's completely at a loss when it comes to one of her own being threatened. It seems to be the one area in which she can't pull off the bad ass persona.

What will she do, she wonders, if their perfect group of four suddenly becomes a group of three? How will she survive?


“Let me go,” I said, struggling to stand, but he wouldn’t let me.
“No. Calm down.”
“Do not tell me to calm down Christopher Garrity! You were the one who punched a fucking van!”
This time I managed to get up, but he came up with me, and he grabbed me to him even though I stiff-armed him to keep him away.
“Come here, Poppy,” he said, still sounding angry but also exasperated.
“No, let me go.”
“No,” he turned, using his bulk against me and pushed me to the side of the van where he’d just been. I’m not a tiny little ballerina, I’m about 5’9” and a good 140 pounds. I work out. I kick ass. But Garrity moved me like a paper doll and the movement of my head made some ropes strung from the roof sway.
“Let me go,” I said, heart pounding.
“No,” he leaned in and kissed me. It was not a sweet kiss. It was a rough, needy, desperate kiss that made me want him and want to punch him all at once.
I bit him.
His hands slammed my wrists up, and the fucker bit me back. A quick nip of my lower lip that made me taste a fleeting ghost of copper in my mouth.
“You’re hurting me,” I said, but it came out in a whisper instead of a yell.
Garrity gripped both of my wrists with one big hand and with is free hand, freshly sanitized and smelling of fucking cucumbers and melon of all things, stroked my exposed belly. “I know. And you like it.”
I started to balk, but he shoved his hand down past my belt buckle, past my black jeans, past my panties and found me slick and hot and swollen.
“I don’t,” I said, my face hotter than hot. I was blushing, and it was because I was lying.
Garrity curled a well-schooled finger into my cunt and thrust. His thumb, warm and broad found the engorged nub of my clit, and he pressed hard. My mouth popped open, and he took it in a much deeper kiss.
“I was scared, you twit, because I love you.”
I balked at the twit part, but he pushed another thick finger into me to join the first and in tandem they pressed that spectacularly sensitive bundle of nerves deep inside of me.
“I love you too, but we do this every da—”
I broke off because he was wrestling my belt buckle, and I shimmied my hips to help him. I needed him. I wanted to punch him, I wanted to make him put his head in my lap and stroke his hair, and above it all, I wanted him to fuck me.
“Shut up,” he said. Pushed my jeans down, still trapping my wrists in the bond of his own hand, working his own buckle one-handed.
“Don’t tell me to shut up,” I snapped, but I thrust my hips toward him to contradict my ire.   



Thank you to the lovely Sommer for joining us today. If you liked what you read (and if you didn't, you're a zombie yourself), follow this link to add it to your collection.

Saturday, September 24, 2011

Just so y'all know...

I don't respond to trolls - or cowards. I will not publish nasty comments. I don't pretend that everyone likes me or what I write. But this is my blog and I reserve the right to not publish hurtful or disgusting comments.

I have a feeling this person might be writing on someone else's behalf. Tell them to step up and do it themselves. And if you have something to say to me, don't hide behind anonymity.

E-mail me.

That is all - hope everyone is having a fantastic weekend.

Friday, September 23, 2011

The Bug in my Brain

I'm telling you - there's one in there.

Or maybe Sommer's zombie exterminators missed one of their targets, and it's eaten it - I can't really be sure.But something is definitely missing up there.

See, I LOVE to write. For years, it was how I escaped, what I did when I was bored, and something I took immense amounts of pride in.

Lately, well, I seem to have a problem dedicating myself to my writing time. Things at work are SLOW to be nice about it. And in the past, I would have welcomed the slow time to write. After all, I have about ten serious WIP's, and a few dozen ideas kicking around in my skull.

Yet, lately, when I sit to put my fingers to the keyboard - Bejeweled Blitz winds up on my screen somehow.

*hanging head in shame*

I know - it's a disgrace. And then, if I'm home, I can find a dozen or more things on the television to sit through, rather than bring to life the wonderful characters that are just waiting for me to spring them from their prison.

I don't know where my brain has gone lately. I really don't. And to be quite honest, it's pissing me off.

After work, once in a while, when I have the house to myself, it's quiet, and peaceful, and the perfect time for writing. All day, I'll sit wherever I happen to be, and I'll have scenarios, characters and plot lines springing around my head like Tigger on meth.

But when it comes time to set it all down, and create, I stall. Hell, even while writing this blog I've taken three Blitz breaks. Maybe one reason is that things I write, some get taken the wrong way. People sometimes read into it a little too much. They think that I'm always the main character in everything I write - and some important people feel that it's not complete fiction. I mean, I've never made it a big secret, I do tend to take a few things from real life. Mostly settings, personality traits from others, even secondary situations now and again. But in no way is any complete piece reality.

Maybe that stalls my hand. Even though, I can't control how people will read into things, just as I can't control if they'll enjoy it or not.

But whatever the reason, I've stopped writing lately. And it just makes me feel, I don't know how to describe it.

Empty maybe - and a little bit like a fraud.

Because maybe I'm not a writer, like I always thought I was. Maybe I'm just playing at this, playing at getting my publishing certificate. I don't think I am, but who knows what the sub-conscious is up to.

I'm kind of feeling lost.

So I'm hoping the bug (or zombie) really did eat my brain - because I don't want to think that after almost thirty years of writing, I've lost my passion.

Sunday, September 18, 2011

So...what's YOUR Zombie plan?

Are you, my dear readers, prepared if a zombie apocalypse suddenly strikes? Do you know what you'd do, where you'd run, who you'd call?

I do.

In fact - I'm putting their number on speed dial. And you should too. Who are these marvelous creatures who are going to save us from the un-dead (and definitely unwashed) masses? And how will they prevent them from breaking our skulls open like coconuts and sucking our brains through straws with little umbrellas on them?

On September 28 - bring your cute little (terrified) butts back here to see. Guest blogging that day will be the wonderfully talented, incredibly adorable, and smoulderingly sexy Sommer Marsden.

With that being said, I leave you with my favourite Zombie Plan clip of all time - for those geeks out there, you'll know this one. Seriously - watch it all the way through - the ending is classic.


Sunday, September 11, 2011

Where were you?

As Alan Jackson asked, where were you when the world stopped turning? Ten years ago today, the twin towers came down in the city that, in reality, is the centre of the North American universe.

I was at work when our accountant rushed in, and down to her office to turn on the news. "The bastards took out the World Trade Centre."

To be honest, I had no idea what she was talking about. Until five minutes later, when my boss called me up to her office. We sat, all of us there that day, and watched in horror as those planes changed the course of history - as they changed millions of lives.

I went downstairs to my desk, unable to watch anymore. I sat in silence, in shock, and with tears rolling down my face. I realized that I had friends in the city, people who were there for work, who lived there, who were on vacations. I was terrified, and the theories flying around were that Toronto, with our CN Tower at the centre of our city, was next.

I called the only person I would be able to reach at that time - my father. His voice was soothing, telling me that if I was that scared, to just come home. My boss would understand. He reassured me that if anything else was going to happen, it wouldn't be right away. And my boss sent me home.

The subway was eerily silent. No one talked - no one listened to music - no one moved except in a zombie-like fashion on and off at their stops.

When I got to the subway, my dad was there to pick me up. More silence on the way home, as neither of us could stand to listen to the news.

My uncle was in New York that day - a trade show for work. He was supposed to be in a building next door to the WTC. But he forgot something at his hotel and had to go  back. And we thank God for that every day. My aunt couldn't reach him for hours - as you know all the cell lines were jammed or down. We all sat in panic, waiting for her to get through, waiting for anyone to find out anything.

I got lucky. My friends and family all made it home safe, if not sound. For years, my uncle watched the terror alerts, couldn't travel with a peace of mind. I'm sure it was the same for millions of others. But for me, that's as personal as it gets.

For others, loved ones didn't make it home. Jobs were lost, personal memories altered, families torn apart.

I don't pretend to be an expert on what happened. I can't give you stats off the top of my head, or even pretend to understand why it was done. All I know is that it was done in the name of their God. Like so many wars that were started before, differences in religious beliefs caused horrific atrocities to be visited on others.

That's one of the many reasons I don't believe in religion. I was raised Catholic, but I no longer go to church. I believe in a higher power - call it whatever you want. And I believe in the end, we all will be held accountable to whomever, or whatever, we believe in for our actions here on Earth. But I don't think I should be told where, when, and to whom I should have to pray and worship to. Religion guides you, but also restricts you. I don't know a lot about different religions, but when hatred and ignorance are born out of interpretations of those, I can't have faith.

Today I pray for the souls of those lost in the attacks. I pray for the lives that were changed forever. I mourn the loss of pride, innocence and purity. But I also rejoice in the love that was shown, the friendships forged, and the support when the world came together, and started turning once more.

For all those affected - today, I pray.


Tuesday, August 23, 2011

Romance Awareness Month



How did I NOT know that August was R.A.M?

Seriously. Someone who adores romance, like me, should be keenly aware of these things.

Instead, I'm keenly aware of the LACK of romance in my life. Especially now - when the summer is almost over and the grand tradition known as the C.N.E. is on right now.


See my whole life, I've been a sucker for romance. But very few of the guys I've ever been involved with are hard-wired for romance. It seems to be too much work for them.

And my whole life, all I've wanted, every summer, is to ride the ferris wheel at the Canadian National Exhibition, at night, with someone I love - his arms around me, cuddled tight, and when we stop at the top, to be softly, sweetly kissed in a way that makes it feel like it goes on forever.

It's never happened. And it's incredibly frustrating.


I might be a city girl, but there's still some small town inside me. And the CNE, as big as it is, always feels like a small town county fair. And it sounds stupid, but once the sun sets, and the midway comes to life, it's so romantic - at least I think so.

Maybe it's because you're walking around holding tight to the person you went with, because you don't want to get lost in the crowd. Or maybe it's how many times the boys try so hard to win their dates those cheesy stuffed animals, and when they finally do, the girls look at them like it's the most wonderful thing in the world. Stress seems to disappear, the midway is full of laughter, and it feels like life is good.

At least it's how it appears in my mind.



And when you're above the city - looking down on all the lights, or dead ahead at the CN Tower - it feels like you're alone on top of the world.


And there's nothing more magical than that.


Not that I think it's the MOST romantic thing in the world - I mean, I have a few other scenarios that are right up there - but it's something that would make my heart melt and my knees weak, in the middle of what has been my most hectic summer. And yet, it looks destined to go unfulfilled another year.


So tell me my friends - what makes your knees weak? What romantic gesture could your chosen man do for you that would melt you into a puddle of goo?

Thursday, August 11, 2011

Gorgeous Glee-ful Girl Gagas!

Ok, I was going for a cute alliteration there.

Ahem - Hi. My name is Angell Brooks, and I - am - a - Gleek.

Hmm, no looks of shock or surprise. Guess I'm out of the closet then right?

So if y'all know me that well, it will not come as a shock to find out that I have the absolute HUGEST girl crush on the adorable, lovely, gorgeous, talented, toe-curling Lea Michele.

The funny thing is - back when I was Rachel Berry's age, admitting you had a crush on a member of the same sex automatically meant that you were, well....*whispered* you know.

These days, the lines of sexuality are so blurred in every aspect of life that I'm surprised we still have labels at all. And yet we do. Hetrosexual, homosexual, bisexual, omnisexual, asexual - for whatever your choice, there is a lifestyle, and a label.

And, unfortunately, along with the label comes a bias. And judgement. And plain, old nastiness.

Hmm, where was I going with this again? Sorry - my train of thought has derailed somewhere along the way.

This started as just a way for me to share this amazing song from RENT, sung on Glee by Lea Michele and Amber Riley (Rachel & Mercedes respectively for those who have just returned from Guam). Also, one that *I* feel applies to me. Even if no one else does.

But it got me thinking. Why are so many people quick to judge in today's society anyway? People want others to be "normal". What the fuck is normal anyway? Ok, when I was younger, normal (for girls) was liking boys - usually on the football team or student council - and wanting to be a cheerleader. Anything that went against that, was weird - which was ME. Although I admired and appreciated the physique of the athletes, I tended towards the dramatic, and "nerdy" boys (who turned out to be gorgeous, smart and uber-talented later in life).

These days, anything that is "weird" is being considered normal. Which, to me, seems just about right. Because my definition of normal, is not being like anyone else. We all are different in every way. Some things may be similar to others, but we are each unique. Why strive to change that to be someone else?

So, instead of my original point, which was just to share a great song by two lovely ladies - it is now a showcase, and applause to two well-written, likeable characters, who fit MY OWN definition of normal, and stay true to themselves.

Sing it proud ladies.



Monday, July 18, 2011

And the winner is.....

*drum roll please*

All Summer Long! This delicious story was contributed by the sexy and wonderful Kiki Howell.

She sent this little note with her entry:

I barely get to write in the summer with my teacher husband and my two boys all home, so I was more than willing to take up your challenge :)

And Kiki, we're so glad you did.

Our second sexy entry was by none other than one of my favourite partners in crime, the always-sensual, the always willing-and-able May Deva.

Now, I know that usually there's only a prize for first place, but seeing as this was my first contest, and seeing how both ladies put a lot of effort into their pieces, they're BOTH getting prizes.

One of the things I LOVE about summer is that you don't have to wear socks. Hell, in some places you don't even have to wear shoes! And there's all the lovely shades of nail polish, and toe rings, and anklets - all sorts of things to make your feet pretty (and sexy) for the summer.

So, whilst purusing Etsy, I came across these amazing barefoot sandals. 







Each of the ladies wins her choice of these lovely creations, along with an extra something special for first place!

So ladies, check your email for information. And thank you BOTH so much for participating. It means more than you'll ever know. 

I haven't given up yet - another contest will be held before the summer is up!

Tuesday, July 12, 2011

Sum...Sum...Summertime....




It's that time kids.

Two entries. Two wonderfully talented writers decided to try their hand at my challenge, and I am ETERNALLY grateful to them both.

What was the challenge? 

Take your favourite summer song. Use it to inspire a five-hundred word sexy summer story.

Here are the two wonderful entries. No names, but vote for your favourite. Voting closes Friday night (July 15) at midnight EST.





Brown-Eyed Girl 
 
It is a cliche to call a summer night sultry, but it fit. Sitting in
the prickling grass with some friends, with the sun setting and some
folk-y music drifting from the bandshell, it was hot,sticky,sultry and
just about perfect.
 
“Excuse me, miss.”
 
A bump from behind and a deep voice jarred me. I looked over my
shoulder and smiled, not wanting to break my mood just yet.
 
“Not a problem. No harm, no foul, right?”
 
His broad smile, with a slight gap between his front teeth, answered
as he sprawled on the grass beside me. He looked like a surfer, tanned
and wind-blown.
 
“Hello, brown eyed girl.I believe there's been a song or two written
about you. They didn’t do you much justice though.”
 
His eyes scanned from my hair to my toes, then back to my eyes.
Normally, I'd be giving him the brush-off by now, instead I was
grinning back. He looked ready for a lark and willing to instigate if
need be.
 
“Ah,” I rolled my eyes dramatically, “Flattery may get you everywhere.”
 
He leaned towards me. “Really?”
 
“Maybe.”
 
I turned my head towards the bandshell, smiling, willing to let the
moment linger. We sat in silence through two more songs, testing the
current flowing between us. He moved slightly, I could feel his heat
on my bare arm. A new band took the stage and slow strains of music
wove themselves around us as the twilight deepened.
 
He shifted again, brushing his arm against mine. I realized I was
leaning toward him as well.
 
“You smell so good. I bet you taste even better.” He said quietly,
brushing my hair back from my face.
 
Trailing his hand down my arm, he touched his lips to mine softly,
ghosting his tongue across my bottom lip. He tasted like summer,
slightly salt and smoky. I wanted more. He brushed my hair aside and
began tracing patterns on my exposed skin, shivers following each soft
pass across my neck. My pulse was shifting from waltz to cha-cha, the
man had talent.
 
One hand brushed across my breast, bringing it to a swift peak. I felt
an answering stiffness against my back, a twitch that echoed in my
pussy. The hand continued down my side, burrowing under my loose
summer skirt.
 
“Oh, dirty girl. No panties.”
 
His fingers dipped into my wetness, mirrored the patterns he was
tracing on my neck across my clit. I was coming undone rapidly, his
cock pressing against my ass as I leaned back.
 
“Come for me.”
 
He bit down on my shoulder, just as I felt my body clench, and I bit
my lip to keep from groaning as release rushed through my body like a
tidal bore. He held me, waited for my breath to calm, stroking my
hair.
 
“Wonder what our first date will hold.” he chuckled, drawing me to my
feet and into the night.
 
 
 
 
 
All Summer Long
We were not in Alabama and far from seventeen. But, as Kid Rock  screeched All Summer Long on the radio, I got ideas. Sweat beaded on my  husband’s reddish-tan chest, running over tight abdominal muscles,  soaking into the band of his paint and dirt covered work shorts which  hung low on his waist. He caught me looking.  

Smiling in a rather crooked way, he huffed, “The yard can wait.”

He turned with a grunt, grabbed the ice water I’d gotten him and disappeared behind the one closed garage door.

When I stepped inside, he grabbed my arm and turned me into him, his hand covering my mouth. As I struggled for air, his free hand worked around my tank to pull my bra free. After it fell, I felt the cold rush of his ice water over my chest.

My screech was stifled by the tight grip of his hand. Backing up on instinct, I felt his erection hard against my ass. The heat of the day radiated from his skin against my back as I watched my nipples pebble under my white tank top.

“Cooled down?” His voice was deep, his breath hot across my ear. I shivered.

I could only nod.

He grabbed at my breasts. Desire pooled deep in my stomach.

“Bend,” he demanded. I obeyed, laying over the front of his car. His free hand yanked my shorts and panties down over my nearing sun-burnt thighs. Then, I heard his pants hit the ground as well. Seconds later, I felt his knuckles and the head of his cock at my wet opening. As I imagined his big hand tight around his erection, my inner walls expanded around him.

A door slammed in the distance. My heart started hammering even harder.

“Come,” he hissed. The sudden invasion coupled with his anxious pace and fear of being caught, built the tension inside me from a fire to a near explosion.

His fingers moved between me and the car. Separating my folds and gathering my moisture there, they finally landed on my throbbing clit. Rapid thrusts pushed my engorged nub hard against the pads of his fingers. My taut inner muscles gave way to sparks of release, like fireworks shooting through my body. His hand at my mouth silenced my scream of pleasure. His chest fell to mine, and I heard his own quiet groans in my ear. His hot seed spilling into me set off another round tremors inside my body.

No sooner had our heat crescendoed than he pushed me down to kneeling behind the car—my wet nipples pressed against my hot thighs, my shorts still around my ankles, his legs against my bare ass. I heard his zipper seconds before I heard my neighbor’s voice.

“You got any energy left to help me a minute?”

I bit my lip not to giggle as the evidence of our moment trickled onto my thigh and I plotted future summer sexcapades.



THANK YOU once again to my lovely scribes.

Monday, July 11, 2011

Counting down

Four and  a half hours left until midnight. Until the deadline for my first contest arrives.

And I've gotta tell you friends, I'm feeling mighty discouraged.

One entry. That's all I've got.

I'm not mentioning the wonderful author/authoress who submitted, because the poll will be anon if I get enough entries. But I'd like to thank her from the bottom of my heart.

I've reminded. I've joked.

I've begged.

You see, I'm never sure if I have readers or not. Hell, I'm not even sure if my IRL friends make it here or not.

But I've had a lot of support as far as advertising the contest, from May Deva, Sommer Marsden, Alison Tyler, and Aisling Weaver to name a few.

But alas, I know my fave scribes are all very busy - Sommer is editing and writing her (getting progressively smaller) ass off, Alison's To-Do list is NEVER done, and Aisling just completed a cross country move. And I can't forget my wonderful Dayle, who's husband was in a bike accident and has been keeping us posted via iPhone from his bedside. (NOTE: I'm happy to say that he's at home now recovering nicely. WTG Ken!)

So that leaves the little known writers, whom I've wanted to get to know through this contest.

But no one is reading. Or at least no one is writing.

SO, I'm hoping that this last post before the clock strikes twelve will inspire some of you to sit down and type out five-hundred little tiny words that would mean so much to me.

I thank you for reading - and hopefully for writing.

Friday, July 8, 2011

WOW - I am getting old...

OldER anyway. I mean, we all are.

But this weekend is my birthday weekend.



Wanna get me something sweet?

Then how about 500 words for my contest? LOL. I mean, the deadline is the day AFTER my birthday.  (Please don't ask how old - some know the truth, but I'll never tell. Let's just say young enough to still do it, and old enough to know not to confess until the cops show)

So when I blow out my candles, my wish will be to have a full in-box at midnight on July 11. I know some of you have already sent them in, and I am forever grateful for that.

But for those of you still hesitating - let's just say that iTunes will play a part of the prize. Exactly what I can't say. AND if I get a full in-box, Ms. Alison Tyler has introduced me to a number of wonderfully talented artists on Etsy to choose from.



For those wondering how my "vacation" went - let's just say next year I'd rather stay home. 'Nuff said. But isn't that sexy purple birthday cake bad ass?

Tuesday, July 5, 2011

Paradise is definitely lost this year

This is where I am.


With this.....


and this....


Every year, for a few days, I come up north to enjoy some peace and quiet with the women in my family. We drink, chill, listen to music and enjoy each others company.

And drink. Lots. Lots and lots of alcohol is consumed in these four days. This year, with the tragedies that have befallen my family - the loss of my father in February and my aunt's divorce - things are a little more tense than usual.

Normally, I try to keep my mind blank and serene, enjoying the sun, the company, the scenery.

The peace.

But this year it just can't happen. So, as you might have read a few entries ago, I have put myself on a self-imposed deadline: to finish at least two of the works in progress that I have waiting for me on my hard drive.

The internet connection is sketchy at best, so I'm not sure how long this will take to post, if it even does. I can't get cell reception decent enough to call home, and I feel like I'm in the middle of a shit storm. 

My 18 year old cousin (the one who's parents are divorced) is being a 12 year old brat, screaming and swearing at her mother and calling her every name in the book. She didn't want to come to begin with and frankly, I didn't want to bring her. I swear that child is the BEST form of birth control EVER. My other cousin is feeling it, because she lost her mother six years ago, and she would do anything to have her back. When the screaming starts, I can see it in her eyes, how much she misses her mom. And that causes resentment. So there's just tension.

Lots and lots of tension.

Which means more alcohol consumption. Which I am just fine with, and am eagerly participating in.

This mini vay-cay is another reason that I extended the deadline on my contest. So, as of July 11, the contest is CLOSED. No more extensions - even if I only have one entry...

*blink blink*

*sniff sniff*

Although - I'm hoping that with the guest blog over at Unapologetic Fiction (thank you again to the lovely Sommer Marsden for having me), and with my wonderful friends following me on Twitter , I'll have at least a few entries to make it interesting.

And again, I promise to have a fitting, and interesting prize as well.

Now, I'm off for a refill.

And a set of earplugs.

Thursday, June 30, 2011

Is there no love?

(Psst - permission to repost, pimp out, and blab to your friends - GRANTED!!!)

I. Am. Heartbroken.

Well, not really...well, yeah I am.

Maybe I don't know enough about publicity, maybe I don't know how to market myself.

Maybe I should have put up what the prize is?

But when I check my inbox, it's empty. Not a word. Not a story. Nothing.

I have no entries for my first ever contest. *sniff sniff*



Now, I KNOW there are some great writers out there. I've participated with them in Alison Tyler's contests.

But what am I doing wrong?

So, here we go. Today was SUPPOSED to be the deadline. But since I can't have a contest without entries, I'm extending it. For the weekend.

Yeah, I realize that it's a long weekend, and no one really wants to be writing when they can be outside enjoying the lovely weather.

But it's only 500 words. And I know that most of you can pound those out in your sleep.

So, once again - here are the details (and they're copied straight from the post so I can't sue myself for copyright infringement. LOL)


Inspired by my iPod, which has been known to have a sick sense of humor sometimes, here's your assignment, should you choose to accept it.

It's summer time. Sunshine, beaches, water, patios, cottages, drinks with little umbrellas - and lots and lots of wonderfully dark, romantic, sultry and sweaty places to have sex. Oh, and music. Cool music. Loud music. Bopping music that seems out of place in the dreary, cold grip of winter.


So, pick your favourite summer song. Use it as the title. Give me no more than 500 words. Make us moan, make us sweat, make us sing.


Anyone can enter. If you've sold 10,000 stories, or are just entering the world of erotica, I'm taking all entrants. No discrimination here.


EXCEPT...



... the usual
"NSW" rules apply. You know, no sex with - anyone under 18, animals (as per usual, shifters don't count), things or people that are dead (supernatural beings are ok though, as long as they're over 18). No snuff. No scat. Anything that is sent in those categories is automatically deleted, no matter how good you may think it is.

The prize? I'm not quite sure yet. But rest assured, as a frequent participant in these contests, I know the value of working for something worthwhile. So I shall, indeed, make it worth your while.


What am I forgetting? Oh right! Deadline and where to send it. D'OH.


Have it in by midnight (EST if you please) on July 11
to angell dot brooks at hotmail dot com.


And I know it's completely uncouth to beg (but I've never claimed to be couth hehe), but please, please, PLEASE - help a girl out.

Let's celebrate summer and shiny, sweaty bodies together.




CHEERS!

Tuesday, June 28, 2011

I CANNOT call myself a smut writer...

if the sight of these two men, on stage, TOGETHER, doesn't inspire me.

Fortunately it does. He he he.



Ladies, Tim McGraw & Luke Bryan. How seriously nom nom nom are these two?

Saw their tour last night. And, not only were they TOTALLY inspirational (Luke looks so good in jeans it should be illegal and I had a great view from behind all night. I could wax poetic for DAYS on his thighs alone...), but the music wasn't half bad either. And there was this one absolutely ADORABLE roadie...all in all it was an inspirational night.

LOL. I'm horrible.

But seriously. It reminded me that country music is a summer staple around my house, and that reminded me that there are only TWO MORE DAYS until my Hot Fun In the Summertime contest comes to a close.

So please...I'm hoping for this to be a serious success. If you haven't thought about entering already, why not? Five hundred teeny, tiny words that make us all hot, bothered, and looking for a cold shower.

It's not that *ahem* hard....

And for further inspiration - check out the boys performing together on their current tour.



TWO DAYS PEEPS. Get cracking!

Monday, June 27, 2011

Drawing a blank...

So to speak anyway.

See, I'm like most of the writers I know. I have several WIP's. Characters screaming at me to let them out. And so I do.

Trouble is, unlike the other writers I know, I'm not quite as disciplined at moving them forward past the initial introduction stage. Which explains why I've been working on the same screen play for the last fifteen years (yes, you read that right).

So, come hell or high water, on my foray into cottage country next week (yes I am FINALLY taking some serious ME time - sort of) I am determined to finish at least TWO of the shorts I have going right now. It's going to be difficult, as my trip involves a bunch of women at my aunt's summer "home" and that also involves a hell of a lot of drinking and goofing off. They usually never leave me alone, peering over my shoulder as I'm writing, with a slurred "What'cha doin'? Writin' more porn?" Now, I don't know about the rest of you, but that is annoying as all hell to begin with when people are sober - but at least then you can explain to them that the writing process is private, and they will understand.

Try explaining that to a bunch of middle-aged booze hounds, (and since they're my family I can call them that) most of whom haven't gotten laid in a few months. (yes the conversations ALWAYS lead there - and then the topic switches to the purchase of bedroom aides and when will I take them shopping? Answer: NEVER!)

Although it's always a good time, this year, following the death of my father, and a whole bunch of personal stuff that is going on, I do anticipate there being quite a few tears. And a few more hours of me on the sun porch away from the crying and sniffling.

So, here's hoping for a successful self-imposed deadline.


ANNNNND....speaking of deadlines. There are exactly four more days to get your entries in for my Hot Fun in the Summertime contest. I expect to see a few familiar faces, as well as some new friends.

So what are you waiting for? GET WRITING!

Wednesday, June 22, 2011

Anticipation...

My body's hot, my thighs slick, as I sit here, watching the clock, waiting for you to slip out of your cubicle, down the hallway, and into the ladies room. There's a bonus to being the only woman in the place - this is one of them. MY washroom. All for me to use at my leisure. And by use I mean, entertain.

I see a flash of blue as you walk by my desk, like a heat seeking missile. It's been timed perfectly. The others are out at the coffee truck - no one will witness your foray into forbidden territory.

When they come back, I mention that my stomach is bothering me. I shoot to the bathroom, doubled over, so no one asks too many questions. And no one will follow. I smile as I see you standing by the sink. I flick the lock, ready, waiting.

I’d love to strip you down, and take that hard cock of yours in my mouth. But instead I settle for unzipping those polyester nightmare uniform pants. You’re ready to stroke it for me, because you know it would turn me on so much that I wouldn’t be able to think. But I stop you, and take you in my mouth. You taste of sweat and hard work, and your scent is that combination of musk and hormones that drives me primal.

Mmmm, you’re hard, and hot, sticky and sweet at the same time. I flatten my tongue and use it in broad strokes up and down the shaft, taking time to use the tip of it around the ridge of your head. The skin is smooth, and I playfully nip at it. My other hand reaches up to play with your balls and your fingers tangle in my hair, keeping my head steady as you fuck my face. I open my mouth wider, swirling my tongue around you as you bang against the back of my throat. My pussy’s wet, and hot, and I’m dying to be fucked. The smell of my arousal fills the small bathroom, and my juices are dripping down my thighs. I squirm, trying to move my thong against my clit, to provide even a little relief.

You can read it in my eyes that I want you. But you shake your head, smirking. I’m not getting off today. Only you are. My cheeks cave as I suction your dick. You keep my head pistoning up and down on your rod, pausing long enough to flex one strong hand. One finger gently traced along my jawline, and you smile, releasing my hair and easing me back.

I stay on my knees, knowing what’s next. I remove my shirt, and my bra, and start massaging my tits, offering them up to you, like a sacrifice. But what’s going to happen next is no sacrifice. It’s going to get me even hotter, if that’s possible. You fist yourself, jacking your cock with a somber look on your face, your eyes never leaving my face. I tweak my nipples, rolling them between my fingers, pulling at them, as I stare, mesmerized by your hand. It moves faster, and harder, and I can hear the moan in the back of your throat that means you’re ready.

You throw your head back, and I watch, as if in slow motion, as white hot jets of relief spurt out of your hard on. Your hand continues, and you groan loudly, not caring at this point if anyone knows that we’re in here, that we’re fucking around. Ribbons land on my tits, and I massage it into my skin in some places, and allow it to bead in others. I lean in, sucking on the tip, tasting you, taking whatever’s left.

You wash your hands, leaving me on my knees. You turn and help me up, handing me my bra and t-shirt. I put them on again, still painfully aware that I’m horny as hell and need to come. I look in the mirror and see the t-shirt sticking in places. We smile at each other, knowing that I’m taking you with me back to my desk.

And I’ll be thinking about you all day, waiting for quitting time.

Then, it’s my turn.




©2011


PSSSST - don't forget to enter my first contest! 

Tuesday, June 21, 2011

Craving the cover...

To all authors out there, I have a question. And I'm pretty sure Alison Tyler covered this at some point, but I'm asking again anyway.

Have you ever written a piece simply for the fact that you knew what cover you HAD to have?

Because I have the perfect cover idea that I'm dying to use. The right spot, the right male model in mind (I'd love to be the female but my hips are just WAY too big), the font (no title yet though). I know the lighting, the image fading...god I can see it all in my head.

But I don't have a fitting story to go with it. And that's the frustrating part!!!!

How about you guys? Has this happened to you? Any advice on how to pluck the perfect story for the cover from the swamp of ideas that is my mind?

Monday, June 20, 2011

Ummm...help?

I did it. I finally did it.

But CAN I do it?

I registered my website. I'm so happy with myself for finally taking the initiative to get it done. It's the first step to starting my career.

But I don't know how to design a website!!!! GLEEP.

So now I'm panicking. What was I thinking? Why did I think I could do this? There's no way...

I mean, I have SOME idea on how to do it. Back in the day (oh...about nine years ago) two friends and I had our own website, and we designed it all. Learned how to do html and everything and damn were we proud of ourselves.

But things have changed since then. Now there's flash, and macro, and ... see? I'm not even sure of all the terms! I'm. So. Screwed.

I look at my domain, I know what I want to do...and yet I find myself reaching for a paper bag to breathe into when I think about where to begin.

So, I'm putting the call out to any and all smut-writers/geeks/nice philanthropic peeps who have a clue about all this who wouldn't mind donating time/advice.

And in the mean time, PLEASE don't forget, I'm hosting my first ever contest and am hoping that my fave scribes are taking ten minutes to scribble something together to enter.

I thank you, my nerves thank you, and my overworked nervous system especially thanks you.

Thursday, June 16, 2011

Hot Fun in the Summertime CONTEST

I'm stealing the torch. Ok not so much stealing, as borrowing. I figure, Alison Tyler isn't using it right now....

See, our lovely Trollop is a busy beaver these days (giggle - yes I said that on purpose). And I know that there are writers out there who are just itching for another contest. So, I figured I'd do one myself.

Inspired by my iPod, which has been known to have a sick sense of humor sometimes, here's your assignment, should you choose to accept it.

It's summer time. Sunshine, beaches, water, patios, cottages, drinks with little umbrellas - and lots and lots of wonderfully dark, romantic, sultry and sweaty places to have sex. Oh, and music. Cool music. Loud music. Bopping music that seems out of place in the dreary, cold grip of winter.

So, pick your favourite summer song. Use it as the title. Give me no more than 500 words. Make us moan, make us sweat, make us sing.

Anyone can enter. If you've sold 10,000 stories, or are just entering the world of erotica, I'm taking all entrants. No discrimination here.

EXCEPT...



... the usual "NSW" rules apply. You know, no sex with - anyone under 18, animals (as per usual, shifters don't count), things or people that are dead (supernatural beings are ok though, as long as they're over 18). No snuff. No scat. Anything that is sent in those categories is automatically deleted, no matter how good you may think it is.

The prize? I'm not quite sure yet. But rest assured, as a frequent participant in these contests, I know the value of working for something worthwhile. So I shall, indeed, make it worth your while.

What am I forgetting? Oh right! Deadline and where to send it. D'OH.

Have it in by midnight (EST if you please) on June 30 to angell dot brooks at hotmail dot com.


Wednesday, May 25, 2011

No means....no?

(note: I dragged this one out from the annals - not ANALS you filthy people :P - of works in progress and finished it up)

I try to say no.

Honest. Even though my body wants it. Craves it. Is DESPERATE for it. I still try to say no.

Because, what it all comes down to, is the question - are we only about sex?

I'm trying to figure that out. But you're not letting me.

At the beginning of the night, it's a strong slap on the hand and a ferocious "NO." I am strong willed, I am tough, and I am righteous. This isn't happening tonight. We are going to enjoy each others company and just be together. Ok, a little groping OVER the clothing, and a few kisses are acceptable. But that's it.

You seem to accept this, settling for nuzzling that perfect spot on my neck, and running your fingers along my arm. You draw soft circles on the inside of my elbow, and nibble gently on my ear.

I'm getting warm, but I refuse to give in. Warmth is all I'm going to allow. My nipples become erect, almost painfully so, but I ignore them. Instead I lean over and softly kiss your lips. You slip your tongue in briefly, brushing against mine, and withdrawing. No sense in getting all worked up right? I think, this isn't so bad, because you're being very good, and accepting my NO this time.

Yah right.

An hour goes by, where we just watch TV, curled up on the bed. The door is closed. No one will disturb us, save the cat. You hold my hand, tracing a pattern into my palm. I'm blissfully content, desperately ignoring the throbbing between my legs and in my chest. I close my eyes, breathing deeply. I will calm down. I will beat these urges.

My hand is thrust between your legs, trapped against your hardness, and you start to thrust with your hips. I giggle, and try to pull it out, but your thighs are just too strong. I lie back, and just look at you, your eyes staring deeply into mine.

I move to my side to grab a drink from my glass on the side table. You take this as an invitation to spoon. You let my hand go, pulling me closer so that my ass is tight against your crotch. I bite my lip to hold back a moan, as my clit twitches. Your fingers once again trace patterns into my skin, this time at my waist. It turns me on to be this open and able with someone, and my ass moves further into your crotch.

You pull my hair aside, licking my neck, kissing your way from my collarbone up to my ear.

"No..." I whisper. But it's not even close to being strong. I'm not close to being righteous, or even wanting to be. I'm close to shattering all my will, all my strength. I'm close to giving in to my base urges, because, let's face it, we both want it.

I turn to face you, and you kiss me, this time your tongue taking longer in my mouth. My thighs part, and your hand naturally finds its place, palming my wetness through my jeans. My hands clutch at your back, pulling you into me.

"No..." I try to retain some sanity. I sit up and move, lying on my stomach to finish watching...wait, what were we watching again? You lie on top of me, your cock hard against my ass, pinning my arms in front of me. My hair is still to the one side, and you breath heavy against my ear. One word, a single uttered syllable turns me to liquid. "Please?"

I shake my head, not trusting myself to open my mouth at all. My resolve is weakening, as your hand snakes down the back of my pants, pulling my thong aside and thrusting two fingers into my pussy. I squeak, and bite on the sheets to stop myself from making further noise. You've had enough game playing and roughly you probe me, using your other hand to keep me down.

My juices are flowing and my cunt is clenching, riding your fingers. Suddenly I'm yanked onto my knees, and my jeans are being torn down. They make it halfway down my thighs when I feel you enter me. I push backwards, trying to take all of you in on each thrust. Trapped by my pants, my legs can't spread any further, and the imposed limit is causing friction in areas that I've never felt before. It causes me to come quicker, and I'm close to tearing a hole in the mattress with my teeth.

I want to scream, I want to cry out. But all I can do is collapse after you pull out, and picture you fisting your cock, milking yourself.

As I lie here, I attempt to comfort myself with this solitary thought...

Well, at least I tried.


©2007

Tuesday, May 24, 2011

Wanderlust...

We all have it. Deep down inside, whether we choose to acknowledge it or not. And it doesn't always have to be about sex.

Secretly, we all wonder what it would be like to pick up and go - leave our normal lives behind for an adventure on the open road. Head to the airport and buy a ticket on the first plane heading anywhere but here.

And yes, we wonder what it would be like to kiss the lips of the stranger across the grocery aisle from us. Or to strip off the uniform of the cop that just pulled us over, and see if he looks as good out of uniform as in it.

The lovely, talented and always scrumptious Sommer Marsden decided to embark on her own little journey. On March 15, she asked "Would you follow me..."

Her destination? I believe it was unknown at the time. But her desire? To write a live serial, and post it every day for us readers to enjoy.

Well, after 67 amazing installments, Wanderlust has finally come to an end.

It was a hell of a journey of self-discovery, not just for her characters Johnny and Aurelia, but for her readers as well. She tugged on a part of us that lies dormant, or unexplored, and left us longing to explore it ourselves.

So, in case you missed the first time I pimped it out - here it is - the link to her brilliant tale of sex, discovery, and fulfillment. (This will take you to the first page of it - post 1 is at the bottom of the page - you can figure out how to navigate it from there).




Pour a glass or two of wine (cuz you're not driving), grab a comfortable chair, and get yourself lost. 


For it's only in losing ourselves that we are truly found.


ENJOY.

Listen




I'm so tired of silence.
It surrounds me.
It's in the words coming from the television, the voices coming through the radio. It's in the chatter around us, in the laughter from others.
It's deafening.
Silence.
It's in every word we say.
Every word we don't.

I need words.
Big words, small words. Ten dollar ones and ten cent ones.
Loud ones, quiet ones.
Honest ones.

I need jacked up, lust filled, cum soaked fuck me words.
Tell me what you want to do to me. Tell me what you want me to do - what I have to do.
Tell me how you want your cock to fill my cunt, letting the hard c's soften and melt me.


Order me.
Tell me what to do to you. What to do for you.
To open wide, to suck your balls, to spread my legs.
To cum.

Whisper endearments to me.
Call me baby. Call me honey. Call me whore.
Quote to me Shakespeare, or Dylan, or even Rage.
Anything to let me know where I stand in your world,
in your life.

Stop living in silence.

Let me hear your heart.




©2011



"One of the hardest things in life is having words in your heart that you can't utter."
-James Earl Jones

Monday, May 2, 2011

Closing Time



It was two a.m. Everyone had staggered out of the building, hailing cabs, stumbling down the street to the hot dog carts to satisfy their post-alcohol hunger, and leaving the place in a state of disgrace.

The state you were ready to leave me in. The lock clicked into place as my fingers deftly twisted the lever, and I stalked you, approaching my prey, grinning because I knew, tonight, you didn’t stand a chance.

And then we were dancing, completely alone. I wore a short flared skirt, with knee high boots and a strapless pink shirt. You were in jeans, and a black shirt. All the overhead lights were out, and the few that remained were the bar signs and the dim bulbs encased in stained glass covers over top the pool tables. We were standing in the middle of the dance floor, locked in each others arms, Chris Issak’s Wicked Games playing on the jukebox.

You were holding me close. Your lips brushed my neck, leaving impressions and lingering promises. Your hands explored my back, trailing up and down my spine, drifting across my collarbone, and down my bare shoulders. The song ended, and we stopped moving. We just stood there, hesitant to pull away, to break contact. Moving slower than I ever thought possible, you took my face in your hands, your lips claiming mine. You kissed me gently, then more intently, pulling me into you, your hands grasping my ass, your hard-on pressing against me.

You led me to pool table in the corner, laying me down on the green felt, the lights casting an eerie glow on us. Your hands traveled up my thighs, spreading them to position yourself between. My legs locked around your waist, pulling you closer.

You lowered my shirt over my breasts slowly, leaving me in just the strapless bra. You kissed the tops of my breasts, running your tongue along the curve and down between them. My hands tangled in your hair, clutching it in my fists as sensations I hadn’t felt in a long time spiraled through my body.

You took off my bra - thank goodness for front closures - and began licking my nipples, sucking them slowly, taking your time. My moans echoed through the empty bar, turning to yelps when your teeth came into play.

“Please.”
I begged. “I need you.” You stood up, giving me an evil grin, and lifted my skirt, removing my thong in one swift movement. Your fingers grazed my clit, playing around my lips, before sliding one finger through my wetness into my pussy.

I gasped at the welcome invasion, my eyes closing. Slowly, taking your time, you fingered me, adding a second and then third one. Your other hand was playing with my right nipple - the super sensitive one; the one that has caused orgasms just because someone sucked on it the right way. A secret you knew from weeks of fooling around. A weakness you took advantage of, using and gauging my little gasps as an indication that I was close to coming.

You pulled away, leaving me wanting. I glared up at you accusingly, my eyes bright and my chest heaving. “Well that wasn’t nice.”

You knelt in front of me, nuzzling your nose against my clit, flicking your tongue around it. “Mmmm, ok, you’re forgiven.” I could barely speak the words as you licked at me, the tip of your tongue tracing random patterns in my juices, against my skin. I could hear the rasp of your zipper as you lowered it, and felt you shift as you tried to pull out your hard on without losing contact.

My calves were resting on your shoulders, and I could tell from the shaking movements that you were playing with yourself, and I almost drooled as I pictured your hard cock, calling from my memory how it felt in my hand, and against my tongue. How it was hard, almost to the point of granite. How it was hot and heavy, full of come waiting for somewhere to go.

I groaned. “I want…” I gasped as your tongue found its way into my hot hole. “I want to suck your cock. Please.” I was begging again, in gutteral tones, prepared to get really filthy to get what I wanted.

But it was what you wanted too. With one last, long lick, and a suck on my clit, you stood up. You took my hands, and helped me off the table like a gentleman. I stood before you, my hands going to the buttons on your shirt, my lips finding your neck. I kissed a trail down your chest, my lips claiming every inch of skin that appeared. After it was all unbuttoned, you went to take it off. I stopped you, just shaking my head silently.

I slowly sank to my knees on the hard wood floor, my juices sliding down my thighs. With the black material framing your body, looking down at me, you looked majestic. I took you in my hand, feeling the weight again and marveling at how smooth you were. I licked at the shiny tip, the glistening drop of fluid leaving a sparkling string between your cock and my lips.

I moved forward, just taking the head into my mouth, sucking on it lightly. Your knees buckled a little, and I smiled. Then I opened my throat and took you in all the way. I used my left hand to stroke your balls, while my right reached under my skirt to play with my wetness. Both hands moved in time with my mouth. I gazed up at you, looking you in the eye, urged on by lust I saw there.

I wanted to keep going. I twisted, turned, sucked and licked - firmly, gently, faster, slower. I wanted to coax every last drop of cum out of you, swallow everything you could give me.

But you stopped me, placing your hand on my head. “Get up.” Your voice was strangled, like it was an effort to breathe, let alone speak. I stood, staring at you eye to eye, thanks to the heels on my boots. Grabbing the back of my neck, you pulled me in for a kiss that left me breathless. I tasted myself on your lips, my sweetness on your tongue.

“Let me … “ you took a deep breath. “Let me make love to you.” There was no crudeness, none of the gutter, four letter fuck words that littered our previous nights. I was speechless. I could only nod, my eyes wide, my lower lip caught between my teeth.

You took our coats, laying them on the floor, before helping me to lie down on top of them. Positioning yourself above me, you kissed me again, and I closed my eyes.

“Open those baby browns for me. I want to look into your eyes.” I took your face in my hands, and stared into the depths of you, as you slid into me, slowly. I gasped at the invasion, biting back a moan as I felt the entire length of you come home. You took your time, making sure I felt every thrust, every nudge, every inch of you. I arched my back, wanting more, tilting my hips to pull you deeper into me.

Your pace increased, moving faster, thrusting harder. My hands clutched at the material at my sides, my moans no longer held back, but echoing across the emptiness. You stopped, encased in my warmth, and just held there, allowing me to enjoy your hardness, allowing you to feel me as I flexed my muscles around you, causing you to twitch in pleasure.

“Please.”
I almost groaned. This night seemed to have me begging for everything. But to feel you inside me, to be with you that way was worth it all. You took pity on me, and smiled. You withdrew, and just waited, your head at the entrance to me. I moved my hand to my clit, caressing it with my middle finger, smiling as your eyes caught the movement, stopping you once again in your tracks. I dipped lower, stroking through the moisture, catching the top of your cock with my nail.

“You’re so sexy.” Your voice was low and husky, a tone I hadn’t heard before. I just writhed, moaning as my finger continued to play.

“I’m going to come.” I warned you, whining, breathless. That was enough to start you moving again. “Come with me.” You went faster, harder, fucking me now, not caring about simple words like making love, wanting to be with me when I went over that edge.

“Please.” This time the word came from your lips. You swallowed hard, beads of sweat appearing on your brow. You leaned in to nip at my lip. “Say my name, and open those eyes. I want to see your eyes, hear my name on those beautiful lips when you come.”

I nodded, locking my legs around your waist, bucking underneath you. I could feel your restraint, waiting for me. “Just…one…more…time….” I gasped. As I felt myself fall I cried your name, looking deep into your eyes. “Brent…oh…my…Goddd…” And felt your cock explode inside me as I kept falling, spiraling out of control.

I lay there trembling as my eyes tried to focus on my watch. Three-thirty in the morning; and as Garth Brooks sang, not a soul in sight. Except for you, and me. You helped me to my feet, handing me my apron.

“So I guess you’ll be closing next week too?” Your tone was playful, and I grinned.

“Whatever you say boss.”

©2011

Saturday, April 30, 2011

Day Thirty - Farewell...

The final day of NaPoWriMo. The prompt today was to choose a line from one of the authors that participated and use it as an inspiration. But there were just too many to choose from - so I did the free-style once again.

I would like to thank all the prompters. I wish I could have used them all, but my mind has been predominantly elsewhere this month. Hopefully  next year I can write some happier material.

Congrats to all the participants! We did a hell of a job!





Fairy Tales

I need to love you
to keep my sanity
  (what little I have left).
These emotions seemed like
   a fairy tale
that would never have
a happy ending.
I've heard this story only once before,
   and never thought I'd hear it again.
But when I saw you
I heard the words
   "Once upon a time...."
My heartbeat quickened
and then the emotions
that I thought were buried
resurfaced.
It's a different place
and a different time,
but this fairy tale too,
is destined for
  an unhappy ending

©2011