No Writer is an Island

Having just released my first erotic romance, I've been waiting on the edge of my fitball seat -- yes, they’re good, you can wriggle your butt for exercise while writing -- anyway, still wriggling on, I've been waiting somewhat nervously for reviews.

I wonder how much weight other authors set on reviews? I mean some of these are done by the average reader and others are by those doing reviews for websites dedicated to writing, eBooks and their authors. And of course I've read reviews of various books by the ‘average reader’ that put some of the supposedly professional reviews to shame.

The way I see it, we can choose to let our career teeter on the words of these reviews, we can dismiss them utterly, or we can balance somewhere in between. The sane author does the latter, I believe. And even if you choose to say you don’t read or in any way pay attention to reviews, can that be the truth? Can a writer be an island?

Reviews can hurt, and they can send you into a blissful state where you float a couple of inches off the floor for the day -- thus rendering fitballs unnecessary. They can even, I’m coming to discover, educate the author.

Having spoken at length to one of my recent reviewers, I've learned a lot about how to handle my next novel which is still in the edits stage. And I’m very grateful for her feedback. She’s also reinforced the concept that everybody is different. What is one person’s absolute delectable favorite topic in a story can so repulse another that they’ll want to run to the bathroom to get a toothbrush to scrub the screen of their kindle or nook with soap.

Please folks, don’t do that at home, as it may render your eReader wordless for days. Press delete, spank it a few times for naughtiness, and move on.

So now that I've recovered from the shock that not everyone thinks I've written War and Peace, and dang it, who told me I had anyway? Now, I feel free. I feel as if my wings have unfurled a little, after keeping them wrapped around my head for weeks to shelter myself from the slings and nasty sharpish words of reviewers. So, picking feathers off the keyboard, I’m having a go at writing again. Tap tappity tap.

How much do you let reviews affect you, or if you like reviewing, do you want your review to change what the author puts on that next pristine white screenpage?

And yes, my fitball is red.

Here's another take on the whole writing shebang:

http://www.laurakinsale.com/tea/detail/writing-is-not-a-service-industry/

My website in case you're curious

http://www.carisilverwood.net/

Curse you hair

Wahoo summer is officially here and you know what that means... Bathingsuit season. Now the bathingsuit is bad enough but to make it even worse there's the dreaded hair removal that goes along with it. *groan*. I know, I know, it sucks... and yet somehow the whole process can be funny as hell.*grin*

So that being said I thought maybe it was worth having a little laugh about the whole thing, so I dug through my old emails and found this one.  You may have seen it before but it makes me laugh every time I read it. I have no idea who the actual author of this email is so sorry I can't credit the proper person. Gotta say I'm damned grateful this didn't happen to me. LOL

**********************************

All hair removal methods have tricked women with their
promises of easy, painless removal - The epilady, scissors, razors, Nair and
now...the wax.

My night began as any other normal weeknight. Come home,
fix dinner, play with the kids. I then had the thought that would ring
painfully in my mind for the next few hours: "Maybe I should pull the
waxing kit out of the medicine cabinet." So I headed to the site of my
demise: the bathroom. It was one of those "cold wax" kits. No melting a
clump of hot wax, you just rub the strips together in your hand, they
get warm and you peel them apart and press them to your leg (or wherever
else) and you pull the hair right off. No muss, no fuss. How hard can
it be? I mean, I'm not a genius, but I am mechanically inclined enough to
figure this out. (YA THINK!?!)

So I pull one of the thin strips out. Its two strips facing each other
stuck together. Instead of rubbing them together, my genius kicks in so
I get out the hair dryer and heat it to 1000 degrees.
”Cold wax," ( yeah...right!) I lay the strip across my thigh. Hold
the skin around it tight and pull. It works! OK, so it wasn't the best
feeling, but it wasn't too bad. I can do this! Hair removal no longer
eludes me! I am She-rah, fighter of all wayward body hair
and maker of smooth skin extraordinary. With my next wax strip I move
north. After checking on the kids, I sneak back into the bathroom, for the
ultimate hair fighting championship. Idrop my panties and place one foot
on the toilet. Using the same procedure, I apply the was strip across the right side
of my bikini line, covering the right half of my vagina and stretching
down to the inside of my butt cheek (Yes, it was a long strip) Iinhale
deeply and brace myself....RRRRIIIPPP!!!!

I'm blind!!! Blinded from pain!!!!....OH MY GOD!!!!!!!!!            
Vision returning, I notice that I've only managed to pull off half
the strip.

CRAP!!!                              

Another deep breath and RRIIPP!! Everything is swirly and
spotted. I think I may pass out...must stay conscious...Do
I hear crashing drums??? Breathe, breathe...OK, back to normal.
I want to see my trophy - a wax covered strip, the one that has caused
me so much pain, with my hairy pelt sticking to it. I want
to revelin the glory that is my triumph over body hair.

I hold up the strip!

There's no hair on it.

Where is the hair???

WHERE IS THE WAX???

Slowly I ease my head down, foot still perched on the toilet. I see
the hair. The hair that should be on the strip. I touch. I am touching wax.
CRAP! I run my fingers over the most sensitive part of my body, which
is now covered in cold wax and matted hair.Then I make the next BIG
mistake...remember my foot is still propped upon the toilet?

I know I need to do something. So I put my foot down. DANG!!!!!!!!

I hear the slamming of a cell door.

Vagina? Sealed shut! Butt?? Sealed shut!

I penguin walk around the bathroom trying to figure out what to do and
think to myself "Please don't let me get the urge to poop. My head may
pop off!" What can I do to melt the wax? Hot water!! Hot water melts
wax!! I'll run the hottest water I can stand into the bathtub, get in,
immerse the wax covered bits and the wax should melt and I can gently
wipe it off, right??? WRONG!!!!!!!

I get in the tub - the water is slightly hotter than that
used to torture prisoners of war or sterilize surgical equipment - I sit.
Now, the only thing worse than having your nether regions glued
together is having them glued together and then glued to the bottom of
the tub...in scalding hot water. Which, by the way, doesn't melt cold
wax. So, now I'm stuck to the bottom of the tub as though I had
cement-epoxied myself to the porcelain!! God bless the man who had
convinced me a few months ago to have a phone put in the bathroom!!!!!
I call my friend, thinking surely she has waxed before and has some
secret of how to get me undone. It's a very good conversation starter
-"So, my butt and who-ha are glued together to the bottom of the tub!"

There is a slight pause. She doesn't know any secret tricks for removal
but she does try to hide her laughter from me. She wants to know
exactly where the wax is located, "Are we talking cheeks or hole or
who-ha?" She's laughing out loud by now...I can hear her. I
give her the rundown and she suggests I call the number on
the side of the box. YEAH!!!!! Right!! I should be the joke of someone
else's night. While we go through various solutions. I resort to scraping
the waxoff with a razor. Nothing feels better then to have your girlie
goodies covered in hot wax, glued shut, stuck to the tub in superhot

water and then dry shaving the sticky wax off!! By now the brain is not working, my dignity has taken a major hike and I'm pretty sure I'm going to need Post Traumatic Stress counseling for this event.

My friend is still talking with me when I finally see my
saving grace....the lotion they give you to remove the excess wax.
What do I really have to lose at this point? I rub some on and OH MY GOD!!!!!!! The scream probably woke the kids and scared the dickens out of my friend. It's sooo painful, l but I really don't care. "IT WORKS!! It works!!" I get a hearty congratulation from my friend and she hangs up. To my grief and despair....THE HAIR IS STILL THERE.......ALL OF
IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!. So I recklessly shave it off. Heck, I'm numb by now. Nothing hurts. I could have amputated my own leg at this point.

Next week I'm going to try hair color.....

Hope you enjoyed!!

~Lauren

http://www.laurenfraser.com

Permanent Blush, by Guest Blogger, Margie Church

By Margie Church

I used to work with a woman who was equally appalled and attracted to the books I write. Over lunch, she'd often bring up my WIP and ask questions about the sexual relationships. Sometimes she'd look so flustered and say things like, "What does your husband say about this?"

Or my personal favorite, "Why is it always about sex?" To which I got to give her my WTF look and reply, "I write romances. They're all about sex."

Truth be told, I enjoyed the shocked look on her face and the day I interviewed a staffer about going to Hedo 4, well, I think she had a mass said for me.

Because if she really understood romances, she'd know they're more than just about the sex.

The buildup to the hot sex has to be as enticing and arousing as the sex itself. Because if it's not, not only is the book a dud, it's not a romance. There has to an emotional connection to the characters. Palpable desire. Palpable, emotional connection.

There's a simple formula to writing romances.

1. Boy meets girl (change the genders to suit your story) and fight off their desires.

2. Boy and girl recognize they can't fight off their desires and have hot sex.

3. Something/someone tears apart their match made in heaven.

4. Something/someone brings them back together for a HEA or HEAFN.

God, the formula is so simple, but everything that happens to get through those four simple steps is very complicated. The sex, you'll notice, is only one step along the way. Make it good. Make it last. Put a permanent blush on the reader's face.

My upcoming release, Hard as Teak, is an erotic m/m romance. If you enjoy coming out stories, please watch for mine, June 27, from Noble Romance Publishing. To read the blurb and excerpt, please visit my website: www.RomanceWithSASS.com. In case you're wondering, the SASS stands for Suspense, Angst, Seductive Sizzle…kinda follows those simple four steps, doesn't it?

Find Margie at her website or blog. Search Margie Church at Facebook, Twitter, or Amazon.com

Thanks for visiting.

Red Flags – Overused Words - by KevaD

I recently wasted my time starting to read a story where in the first two pages the author began six sentences with the word "Fuck." Three other sentences included the same word. Those inclusions were the always popular and by now overused, "I want you to fuck me" – three times. Apparently the hero was a bit dense and needed to be reminded frequently that the naked women slithering up and down his body was available.

Okay. I got it. The author knew the word "fuck" and was somehow under the misperception that repeated use of the word by the female MC would stimulate and excite me, and convey the seemingly always present surprise in the heroine who found shock and amazement in everything around her. I guess the heroine didn't get out much.

I didn't make it any further than the first few pages.

I'll admit that using the word "fuck" can be viewed as provocative at times, and even sensual at times. Bombarding me with it is none of the above.

Use of repeated profane utterances designed to shock, stimulate, and/or draw me in to the character, doesn't work for me. Sorry. A writer has to do better than that. Admittedly, I'm a tough, tough audience. And cheap. I don't like wasting my money on books I won't finish. I want descriptive and innovative uses of language. I want more than my libido stimulated – I want my mind fully aroused.

"Fuck, fuck you, fuck me," are huge red flags for me. Overuse sets me to wondering if that's all the ability the writer has, when I should be wondering what's going to happen next in the story.

Oh, before I go. "Nub." It appears every woman is equipped with three; one at the tip of each breast, and one between her thighs. I know this descriptive noun isn’t going away, and I have used it and no doubt will again. But let's be honest. How many stories have we read where that word doesn't make an appearance, or six?

And, I'm sure we can all agree that we know a "nub" will surface somewhere in an erotic tale and transform to a… ready for it?... pebble.

So, what words make you yawn?

Tom's Story Chapter 17-the final chapter by Debbie Vaughan

Midnight Sun Tanning Salon, we cater to all persuasions, the neon sign stated in red, the first tanning salon to cater to vampires as well as humans, or anyone who wanted a healthy glow. Vampires knew other supernatural beings dwelt among the humans, but that was their secret to share or keep as they chose.

Looking back, I think as much planning went into the salon as our emergence into the human sector. The perfect location in the River Market was chosen, a corner slot next to a vampire owned 24 hour dry cleaner and across from a bar and deli. We were close to three area hospitals and would benefit from the late night shift change.

We had three inspections by the health department, stringent guidelines to follow concerning parental consent for minors and warning signs dotted the walls. As a prototype we would be observed closely. As an equal opportunity employer, the staff would be comprised of humans and vampires, and anything else that fit the requirements…and the uniform. We had a firm, don’t ask, don’t tell policy in place for anything other than humans or vamps.

I grimaced then, smirked, as Raf bent double to stock the lower shelf with sun-tan oil. He insisted on wearing the uniform, even though our grand opening was a week away. The gold-lame short shorts barely covered the subject as the southern girls were fond of saying, and highlighted his package. He wore his black logo t-shirt at least a size too small, as was the one he insisted I wear. Each showed every muscle and sinew, as he was well aware.

I’d never seen him so excited, he seemed to glow as he straightened and fussed to make sure everything was perfect while I waited for my 9:00 appointment. The clock above the Razorback Red machine read 8:55, the one set in the belly of the Remington on my desk, 8:58.

“What time is it Raf?” His excitement must be rubbing off. It felt like a million ants were taking their evening constitutional across my skin. The air smelled sweeter, fresher, like a spring day after the rain.

Raf disappeared, never answering my question. The bell at the door chimed. I turned in my chair and froze. For a moment in time it was more than a hundred years ago, my still heart leapt. Her short hair was the palest shade of blond, platinum under the florescent lights. She was small and slight with curves in all the appropriate places, although the ill fit of her clothes masked them. An air of innocence wafted around her, belying the confident set of her head.

I moved without realizing I did so. She glanced my way and smiled.

“May I be of some assistance, ma’am?” Unconsciously, my accent reverted to the voice of my youth.

She turned back in my direction, stared at the shirt stretched too tight across my chest, the snug sleeves above my biceps then dropped her gaze to my crotch before hastily yanking it back to my face.

“I’m looking for the boss.”

“You’ve found him. Tom Thornton.” I stuck out my hand. “Would you be my 9:00 appointment?”

She closed her mouth with a snap and swallowed hard. “I’m Constance Bennett.” She took my hand. “Connie.”

Someone had turned the hourglass of time. Destiny, fate, call it what you will. We three belonged to one another. The moment we touched realization flared, and if it had not, Raf’s thoughts were in my mind to convince me our wait was over.

“It’s her!”

The beginning. . .

Well, folks, I hope you have enjoyed my little tale and are ready to sink your teeth into the rest. Unfortunately, they have to be published first. Sorry!
Please visit me at www.debbievaughan.com for news on upcoming releases.
And if you would like to read Tom's Story in its entirety, please visit
http://getbit-bymyfreereads.blogspot.com

Release day for Speak to Me of Abduction

Today I'm excited to announce the release of the first book in my Reel to Real series, Speak to Me of Abduction.

For a chance to win a free copy visit my website www.lilliangrant.com before the weekend.

Blurb

Stranded in Rio and desperate for cash, Australian backpacker Charlene Paige accepts a minor movie role. When her costar, Hollywood hunk and serial womanizer Jonathon Deveraux, is abducted from the set, she turns to his older brother for help.

Jacob Deveraux is an Oscar winner and Hollywood good guy, but his past has made him a recluse. However, when his brother goes missing, he agrees to help the hapless Aussie who was deceived into taking a movie role so Jonathon could woo her into his bed. Despite being determined to keep his distance, Jacob is increasingly drawn to her.

When it becomes obvious Jonathon’s kidnapping is designed to punish him, Jacob worries his feelings for Charlene make her a target. Despite his efforts to keep her safe, she is grabbed off the street. Can he rescue Jonathon and Charlene, or will he lose not only his brother but another woman he loves?

Excerpt

Lost in thought, Charlene jumped when a hand squeezed her shoulder. She turned to find Jacob behind her.

He removed his hand and turned to lean his butt against the side of the boat. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” He leaned closer and tipped her face up to look at him. “Are you okay? I heard you creep past my door.”

She stared into his eyes as lightning lit up his face. It was like a dream, standing in the rain thinking about Jacob, and then he appeared. “I thought you were asleep.”

Jacob shook his head. “Nope, the storm woke me. “

“Me, too. Then I couldn’t stop thinking.”

He paused for a moment, his eyes drilling into hers. “About?”

She turned her face away and shrugged. There was no way she was about to tell him she had been fantasizing about how it would feel to kiss him. Although if she did, he might let her find out. She shoved the idea aside, even though being so close to him was torture, being pushed away would be even worse. She concentrated on keeping her voice steady. “Nothing important.”

The rain changed from a slow soaking drizzle to huge drops, bouncing off everything they hit. Jacob leaned in closer to her ear, brushing the wet strands of hair from her face with his fingertips.

“You’re getting soaked. Come out of the rain.” His voice was soft and warm with concern, and when he put his arm around her shoulder, she let him lead her inside. Water dripped from the bottom of her T-shirt and the ends of her hair as she shivered in the cool air-conditioned room. Lost in thought, and basking in the beauty of the storm, she had been oblivious to everything, but as her teeth started to chatter, she became aware of just how cold and wet she was.

Jacob reached over and turned on a table lamp that looked like an old ship’s lantern, bathing the room in a warm orange glow. He nodded toward the sofa.

“Sit down, and I’ll get some towels.”

Charlene did as he said and watched Jacob disappear through the door. He returned moments later with two fluffy white towels. He handed her one and began to rub his hair dry with the other. Charlene wrapped the warm towel around her shoulders and pulled it tight as she sat and watched Jacob, who had now turned his attention from his damp hair to his wet clothes.

Unable to tear her eyes away, she held her breath as he peeled off his wet T-shirt and tossed it on the floor. Drops of water caught the light and glistened as they made a slow trail over his well-defined chest muscles, flat stomach, and disappeared into the damp fabric of his shorts. The white body-hugging material was translucent everywhere except the very front, where a double layer of fabric kept the most interesting part of him hidden. The tantalizing glimpse of the top of his thighs and the front of his hips bones made her squirm. She desperately wanted him to continue the show. When he wrapped the towel around his hips, she had to fight the urge to tell him he shouldn’t be standing around in wet underpants.

He nodded at her. “You should take that wet top off while I go and grab you another T-shirt.”

Charlene glanced down at herself. The T-shirt clung to her body, and her nipples protruding through the soaked material had as much to do with seeing Jacob wet and semi-naked as it did with the temperature of the room. She didn’t want him to find her another T-shirt. She wanted to pull off the sopping garment and wrap her arms around him, warming her cool breasts on his damp chest. When he made no effort to move, she smiled shyly at him. Perhaps he wanted a show of his own.

“It’s okay. I can just wrap the towel around myself.”

Her heart pounded, and she took a deep breath as she wondered how he would react to her obviously flirtatious behavior. Would she get the kiss she had been dreaming about?

She got to her feet and started to lift the T-shirt, wondering if Jacob would turn around. He didn’t. He stood and watched. Her eyes met his, and a smile flickered at the corners of his mouth, almost like he was daring her to continue.

He maintained eye contact as she dragged the shirt over her head, but when she pulled her face free, she caught him admiring what had been hidden underneath.

Jacob’s focus traveled up to her face. Her cheeks flushed as his face lit up with a slow, sensual smile that started with his mouth and ended with his eyes. He ran his tongue slowly over his lips, his gaze roaming her exposed body, and Charlene shivered.

The look of desire in Jacob’s face as he stepped towards her made her pulse race with anticipation. Would he pull her into his arms and kiss her? Would she get to press her naked breasts against his chest?

Her stomach lurched with disappointment when he broke eye contact and wrapped the towel around her shoulders. Once she had covered up, he looked back into her eyes and chewed on his bottom lip.

Charlene met his gaze, goose pimples covered her skin. A pain started to throb deep in her gut, and she breathed more deeply.

Jacob’s damp hair fell in front of his eyes, and she lifted a hand to push it out of the way. The towel slid off her shoulder exposing her left breast. His gaze dropped from her face to her chest, and he reached out and brushed his fingertips lightly over her nipple. Charlene closed her eyes as her nipple hardened and a pulse of desire flowed through her. She fought back a moan, desperate for him to explore further. 

 

You can buy it now at SirenBookstrand

Are you ashamed… by Gillian Archer

About the type of books you read? I’ve read several posts over the past week about journalists bashing the romance genre. I’m not gonna link the posts because I don’t want to give them more attention than they’re due. (You can read all about it at Dear Author or Smart Bitches if you’re really curious.) But a few of the journalists were correlating the advent of ereaders and the shame some feel about reading books with lurid covers in public.

I’ve personally never been one of those readers. From high school until just recently, I would read my book with no thought of what people around me were thinking about my choice of reading material. I’ve never had people try to degrade me for reading spicy romance novels. The closest example I can come up with is when my dad would tease me about reading romance books. But I grew up in a house where teasing was how we showed affection. It didn't bother me.

I switched to ebooks more for the portability factor than any feeling of shame. I love having hundreds of books at my fingertips. I’m a voracious reader. And now when I go on vacation, my book collection can fit in my purse rather than its own separate suitcase like past trips.

But I can see how ereaders could be seductive to some. Similar to putting A Tale of Two Cities dust jacket on the latest release by Lora Leigh.

Did you switch to ebooks to avoid getting the stink eye in public? Have you ever had to defend your choice of reading material?

You can read more about my questionable stories at my website.

How to Write Sizzlin’ Hot Sex Scenes

by Cari Silverwood

I’m a newbie erotica author so I’m being a tad presumptuous here, but I’ve had a lot of people tell me I write ‘hot’ sex scenes. So here goes. Bite me if I’m wrong. That last is said tongue-in-cheek. No biting. Please.

I’ve cobbled my own method and style together from what others have told me, and from what I’ve read, but not all of it was from reading about sex scenes. I’m going to add my own slant on things here, because if I don’t I may as well just send you off to another’s link. You may disagree with what I say, but then everyone does it a little different. Sort of. So much sex, so many permutations.

1/ Sex doesn’t start in the bedroom. If you want it to zing, your people have got to want to be there, doing it. I’ve seen authors bemoan having to write sex into their stories. I’ve seen erotica authors say how sick they are, how bored they are, with writing sex. Sex scenes shouldn’t be gratuitous, they need to be there for a reason -- plot or character development preferably. This IS erotica though, and character development is a pretty fluid thing.

Bottom line -- if you want it to be hot enough to leave scorch marks on the sheets…or walls, you, the author need to feel as if it should be there. For whatever reason. State of mind is EVERYTHING.

2/ Sex is not some fill in the dots picture, it’s an active event. Body grinding against body. Sweat trickling between breasts. Cardiac arrest level heart-pumping action.

To me that is the key: Action. Things are moving, people are feeling, thinking (in the earlier stages anyway J).

I've always loved writing action and I tend to SEE what happens in great detail with action and almost go slow motion. That's what you need with sex scenes. If you think you do action well, you are on the right path -- apply that skill to sex. Great detail helps. Every so often try going really really detailed. Pick something that's a tiny thing most authors might not put in often, if you can, or SEE a movement, a way the two people interact that's different in some way.

The stubble on his face scraping her butt cheeks. The dribble of sweat at the corner of her eye being licked away. The dragon tattoo, at the small of her back, being outlined by his tongue.

So, are you seeing in great detail? Good. You also need to remember to BE there. No, you are not just a voyeur sitting in a chair watching. You are one of those people. Switch between them if it takes your fancy -- though be careful how, as doing it more than once is fraught with difficulty. The reader needs to identify and empathize with the person having sex. If you’re not there, how can they be?

You are in their Point of View (POV), possibly even more than in most parts of a story. Feeling embarrassed yet? It can be. When I saw that I had gotten a contract for Three Days of Dominance and that I could go on to write more erotica I got quite embarrassed. People would READ (OMG) these scenes I'd written, and they are so intimate. But you have to let yourself go, and really think about what you feel during sex, about what your body does.

Most of us are only one gender, I certainly am…so describing a man's orgasm from inside his head, to me, is odd. But you can do it. Ask people. Read other’s descriptions.

Okay, so sex is action. What sort of action though? Simple? Maybe.

Write action in the sequence it happens. Got that?

Oh, and substitute him/ his below, if you want to.

Remember internal thoughts are part of the action. Now here is where I learnt from what Cherise Sinclair has said, and she says she got this from Morgan Hawke…LOL. I’m paraphrasing here, in my own words. I already could write sex, but reading this description made me realize why some actions happen in the order they do, and helped a lot. We are living creatures, we have nerves. Strictly according to how our bodies function, this is the order things happen:

a. His Action -- he kisses her breast.

b. Her Reflex action (ie reaction) Think of this like the instinctive knee jerk from tapping the knee.

Eg. Her areola puckers up. Nipple peaks/ crinkles (LOL some hate that term) tightens/ hardens etc

Maybe she gasps or makes some other involuntary movement -- her eyes widen, she shudders, whatever. These are all uncontrolled reactions, or close to it.

c. The mind gets involved next. Again involuntary or almost but in internal dialog. Like an OMG in the head. The Yes! in thought. Lord. Jesus. Fuck. Hell, yeah! Those sorts of short, exclamatory terms. At the same time you can put in sensations -- what you smell, feel, taste, see and hear.

d. Mind again. Only here we have her thoughts that she’s actually processed and to a degree, been logical about. Should I be doing this? Lick me there again, James! Why didn’t I paint the ceiling beige? Whoops, bored character alert. Do something else, James!

e. Her thought-out reactions. ie Things she does deliberately.

She moves her body closer, puts her arm around him and hauls him closer, twists her hands in the ropes and wants to touch him but can’t (oh, yes, I do write BDSM), kicks him in the balls. Dammit, James, I told you to get creative.

Or she says something. “Turn out the light, James.” Or, “Turn on the light, James. I want to see it when you shove that big throbbing shaft of manhood in my…” Whoops, purple prose alert.

f. Back to him and he does, says something, and we’re off on the next round.

Just remember to stay in the POV of the person you are inside (not that sort of inside -- inside their head.) You do not, cannot, hear the thoughts of the other person (s), unless you have a character with a telepathic ability.

I tend to use all sorts of anatomical terms in my descriptions, you don’t have to, but it is a little more likely to get repetitive if you only have one term for the pussy, vagina, cleft, cunt, slit etc.

Now. Important. You do not have to, and should not, put in every single one of the above actions and thoughts every time. Mix it up. Just keep to the right timing sequence.

3. Next: Ingredients should vary.

If you think the sex you’re about to write is boring, maybe you should (a) be using different ingredients, and (b)be writing about something that does turn you on.

Get creative with your ingredients, and this includes that pre-sex background build-up I already talked about. Sex isn’t paint by numbers. I write BDSM because it thrills me, pushes my buttons. It also lets me create all sorts of marvelous situations that would never happen with vanilla sex. Every sex scene should be unique in some way. It should NOT be Bill and Dora get on the bed in a missionary position and go at it like rabbits.

Sex is not generally, precisely choreographed. Though you should have some idea as to what they’re going to get up to before you write it, the people and where they are, what they have on hand, who is around them -- all these introduce variables. Start writing and go with the flow, to a degree. See where they take you. You may be pleasantly surprised. Even better, see where YOU take you. Remember, that’s you in the scene, albeit with some character add-ons that might not be you. Those character quirks should always be there too, in the back of your mind.

4/ I repeat what I said above. Write what turns you on. It helps a lot. Don’t try to write something that makes you go ick or leaves you yawning. If you do start yawning, something is wrong. Rethink, rewrite.

If your own writing isn’t getting you all hot and bothered, something needs changing. Only panties need changing if you’ve written a hot scorching sex scene.

5/ Second last of all, your general writing skill will affect how these scenes turn out. Watch the rhythm of your words and sentences. Don’t just use short sentences. A bit of poetry in motion never hurt as long as it’s not ‘purple’. Experiment with words a little. Just because everyone else says the head of a man’s cock is purple and mushroom shaped, doesn’t mean you have to also. Don’t start every sentence with ‘he’ or ‘she’. With sex scenes this is a really easy trap to fall into. I know I do it still.

6/ Last of all. Get someone else to read what you’ve written. You’d be surprised what someone else can pick up that you’ve missed. This, of course, applies to all writing.

EXCERPT from Three days of Dominance

Just to set the scene, Danii is sitting, legs spread, atop Heketoro’s lap.

She felt his cock push in and tease her lower lips. Heat flared, curling around, making her wriggle. Oh, if he’d move a little that way, the head of his cock would be in just the right spot.

“Unh!” There. Yes. “Wait,” she choked out the word, her voice thick with the lust jumbling her thoughts. She’d remembered an essential.

She leaned sideways to crab her hand across the floor, found the condom wrapper where she’d dropped it, then ripped it open. Though he frowned, looking as if he thought she’d done something odd, he allowed her to roll the sheath down over his cock. As the last quarter inch unrolled, he bent and swirled his tongue across her nipple.

While still sucking, drawing her nipple up tightly between teeth and tongue as if it were a prize he’d captured, he lowered her onto her back.

“Ahh.” She bowed her spine, pressing her breasts up at him. Changing sides with his mouth, he flicked at her other nipple with the tip of his tongue. When she put her hands up to wrench him closer, he swiftly collected her wrists in one hand and pinned them above her head.

For a few seconds, she struggled to free them, but it was as if manacles of stone had descended on her. Nothing moved at all -- his weight and strength were too great. Surrendering sent first a tendril and then a cascading wave of liquid heat sizzling through her. He paused and waited with sinister patience until she stilled.

No, she thought. I don’t want this, do I?

The rapid rise and fall of her breasts as she breathed hard through her open mouth betrayed her arousal.

He smiled and lowered his mouth to continue his assault on her breasts with tongue and lips and nipping teeth. Pleasure and pain, predator and prey, and she knew so acutely which was which. She watched enthralled as he worked on her.

This was nice. Too nice. She groaned, arching again. Giving in, this once, couldn’t hurt. She smothered her misgivings.

* * * * *

Now, if I've broken some of my rules, please don't tell me. Authors can be grumpy bastards and throw things.

Due out June 7^th from Loose Id, Three Days of Dominance.

www.carisilverwood.net for an excerpt.

My blog dates for this month (clickable)

June 9th Forbidden Bookshelf - Wet Wet Dreams

June 13th Nerine Dorman's Blog - Why I write BDSM

June 8th Judithleger.blogspot.com - Interview

June 20th Beyond Romance (Lisabet Sarai's blog) - The Awful Side-effects of Writing Erotica

June 21st Imnoangelauthorsblog - Call of the Erotica Wild

I checked out Morgan Hawke's website and she has oodles of advice about writing. Only seems right to show you her link.

http://www.darkerotica.net/EroticQuills.html

Reaching Readers

Over the past two years, I have immersed myself in the world of erotic romance writing. As a reader, I was always intrigued by the stories authors told, but never imagined them as real people, like you and me, who live real lives and who take the time to respond to their fans. All of that changed when I reached out to Ally Blue who wrote the Bay City Paranormal Investigations series. I fell in love with the characters of her books and with her as an author. When she responded to me email, I was blown out of the water. Since then, I have made sure that I respond to each and every email I receive from people who have read my work. Yet in this world of ebooks, social networking, and the incredibly wide range and large quantity of stories to be read, how do we make ourselves stand out? What are the things that touch our readers?

First and foremost, it's the stories we tell. Nothin will make up for a good story. Once that touches a reader because it is real and believable. When a reader connects with a story, they want to see how it ends. When a story reflects a readers own journey, emotions, and experiences, the reader will feel a sense of satisfaction at the end. This, in my humble opinion, as both an author and a reader, is the most important thing we can achieve as authors. But there are several other things that we can do to keep ourself present in the virtual world of readers.

I have found that Facebook and other social networking sites have been invaluable tools for keeping connected, letting people know about upcoming events, and basically keeping my name floating out there. Having a website which is active, one that you continually update, is another way to keep readers posted on what is available and what we are currently working on. Similarly, having a blog is a great way to share your musings and to engage readers in a more active interaction with you and your work. I've seen several authors who have regularly scheduled topics for days of the week, etc.

I think that humility, true humble appreciation that people are willing to read our work and to let us know what they think goes a long way to developing a positive image of ourselves as part of a larger community. I submit my work to be reviewed just about everywhere and good or bad, I am always thankful for the reviews and the conversations they spark. While I love my glowing reviews, who wouldn't, I have been equally appreciative of the ones where readers/reviewers weren't 100% thrilled with what I wrote. The feedback and the comments have helped me to hone my craft and to hit the target closer to the center with each book I write.

I personally have found that becoming actively involved with the book review and promotion sites is also another great way to keep fresh and visible. There's nothing better than picking up my reader and reading a new story by an author who has become a friend or by a new author I have not yet experienced. Each and every time I reach out to those authors to let them know I am reading their books and to share me reactions as I read. Facebook has been a great way to achieve that. I love the reactions I get from authors as I give them periodic feedback on what I'm reading. It's playful and serious at the same time. And I have found that in the end, I have made a new friend in a new author.

So what's the point of this blog entry. I guess, in part, I'm sharing what's worked for me. But I also hope to impart a message to my fellow authors and to my fellow readers. Humility is key. We are a large community, but surprisingly small. Arrogance, missteps, buring of bridges...those are thigns that can follow us and hurt us.

So, my fellow readers and writers, thank you. Thank you for the stories you tell and for sharing your impression of the stories I have told. I look forward to a continued journey through the years.

Thinking Like A Man - JS Wayne

KevaD here:

I have the honor of introducing to Some Write It Hot author JS Wayne. He's an intelligent and very gifted newly published writer. I hope you enjoy his first appearance on our blog. So, without further ado, I give you the multi-talented JS Wayne…

If you know about me, you already know that I’m a married, het man. So thinking like a man really isn’t, or shouldn’t, be an issue. The trouble, in this context, is that I think like a heterosexual male. I can listen to my wife gush about the hotness of some guy in a movie, look at him, and say, “Yeah, he’s decent-looking.”

            I can appreciate a good-looking man. But it’s an academic appreciation. My reaction is completely different than it would be if a woman of approximately equal attractiveness (I know, I know…it’s apples and oranges, but bear with me here) entered my line of sight. If said woman happens to be scantily, or not at all, clad, so much the better.

            Before I go too much further, let me also say that my wife’s best friend is a gay man. He celebrated his birthday a few years back at a gay bar in Las Vegas.  We attended, naturally: Aaron’s a good guy and he’s been a solid friend to my wife since high school. After a few initial moments of awkwardness when the bartender blew me a kiss, I learned three things: First, Jack Daniels tastes the same no matter the gender or orientation of the hand pouring it. Second, that a six-foot man really can, with a little makeup and high heels, transform into a very convincing woman. Third, and I’m not sure if this is true everywhere, but subsequent experience seems to bear it out: Gay guys can PARTY!

            We had a lot of fun, and I was surprised that no one tried to hit on me. (Well, with the exception of the bartender.) I duked him a five-spot and went on to get my ass kicked at pool. Anyway, back to the point.

            The sight of a naked man just doesn’t do that much for me. When I look at, say, Michaelangelo’s David, I’m not embarrassed or ashamed by it. It is an exquisitely executed masterpiece, and a great homage to the ideal male form. I would be lying if I said that particular statue doesn’t give me a few body image issues or inspire the need to crank out a few crunches, since my own stomach is nowhere near as impressive as David’s.

            Yeah, okay, so what’s the big deal?

            The big deal is that I’m attempting, in the midst of all my other projects, to write a male-male erotic romance. So far, I’ve facepalmed, headdesked, WTFed, bitched and moaned.

            I’ve actually written about two hundred words. For me, on any project, that’s a pitiful day; for a month’s worth of work, it’s absolutely abysmal.

            The trouble I’m having is getting inside the head of a man who’s attracted to other men. In my younger days, I was a fairly relentless chaser of the skirt, sower of wild oats, supporter of single moms…well, you get the picture. 

            While talking to one of my writer friends about the problem, she pointed out, “Well, yeah, but you can write male-female romance. Hell, you wrote that lesbian vampire-ghost story, “Espiritu Sancti.” So what’s the problem? You’re just swapping out one set of genitals for another, right?”

            I said, “Well, yes, and no. You’re bi. When you go out with a woman, you approach it differently than you would with a guy, right?”

            “Of course.” She seemed surprised I’d even brought it up, as if I’d remarked that gravity was working that particular day.

            “That’s the problem. I haven’t been able to get into a headspace where I can think like a man who would set out to seduce a man. Seducing a woman? No problem. Thinking like a woman seducing a woman? Simple. Women attract me, so it’s easy. Men don’t.”

            Then she started playing dirty. She delved into a manuscript I just completed called Angels Cry. One of the scenes involves a female angel molesting a mortal man while he’s passed out as a result of a bullet wound.

            Two minutes of silence later, my own words came across the screen. This, in turn, nearly made me swallow my cigarette. As I read through it, though, I realized her point. I had described the man in attractive terms that I felt would appeal to a woman. In doing so, I had inadvertently taken the first step in being able to think like a man who finds other men attractive.

            As I was chewing this over, she added, “You can do this. I know you can.”

            So I’m trying to learn everything I can about male-male relationships, short of actually getting embroiled in one, to make sure I hit the right notes. It’s slow going, but I’m hoping the results will be worth it. Who knows? I may even learn something new.

            And that’s always worthwhile, as far as I’m concerned.

            Thanks for letting me come by and bend your ear, folks! You can find me on Facebook (Author.JSWayne), at http://www.jswayne.wordpress.com/ www.wix.com/jswaynesite/herebemonsters, and on Twitter (@jswayne702). Stop by and see me, or just check out the latest goings-on. There’s always something new in my world!

            Until next time,

            Best,

            J.S. Wayne

Tom's Story Chapter 16 by Debbie Vaughan

The sixties, era of peace, love, free sex, rock and roll and LSD. My first taste of drug- laced-blood from a flower child was damn near my last. Rather than expanding the mind of a vampire, acid expanded our hunger. A vampire with a case of the munchies is a gruesome sight to behold. Luckily, after my first encounter I was able to detect the aroma and steer clear of those seeking enlightenment. Unfortunately, I had to avoid almost everyone.

Raf became a guru of sorts, preaching love and tolerance to anyone who would embrace his teaching. The young were willing, their elders, not. Integration had only just begun, homophobia was the norm, but acceptance was growing, ever so slowly. The essence of love brought about a change in Raf. She-who-made-him had not sought him out. He set aside his fears and blossomed like a flower in the sun. For the first time, I saw the boy he had once been.

News of Raf’s views on enlightenment spread and his following grew, as did the voices of dissent. We left San Francisco before they ran us out, heading back to the ranch in Texas.

* * * * *

Dr. Sam had continued his research and his dispersal of my funds. We now owned laboratories around the world. He had begun to trace the genealogy of vampires, following several bloodlines backward until they became one. DNA testing was in its infancy and Sam rode the cutting edge. He continued to work on the blood substitute, convinced it would one day free us from the darkness and allow vampires around the globe to live among humans.

One of the most promising products was derived from bovine blood and was touted as the perfect blood replacement. Trials were conducted. The human body couldn’t break down the concentrated cells and renal failure was the result. It could be used in extreme emergencies if accompanied by fluid replacement. Deemed a failure, it was sold for veterinary use. Sam acquired the patent.

While most vampires knew they could exist on animal blood, we thought it had to come warm from the host. We conducted our own trials and found that not to be the case. As Mariska had said decades before, blood was indeed, blood. Bovine blood had an unappealing aftertaste however and tended to separate from the additional nutrients needed to keep us in optimum health. But for now, it served a deeper purpose by removing humans from our menu . . .in theory.

Our announcement was choreographed. The most “human” among us taking center stage. We wanted to appear non-threatening. Our proclamation was met with mixed reviews. Vampires in third world countries ruled by superstition were hit the hardest, but those countries were also the easiest swayed by wealth. Vampire money built schools, hospitals and flew in food to the hungry. Those once deemed monsters, were termed saints in the blink of a fly covered eye.

We sought out a location for my manufacturing plant. Tired of pretending to be other than I was, I wanted something close to my Texas roots. Arkansas’ new Governor was offering tax incentives to new businesses in order to bring money and jobs to the state. Front men were sent in to find possible locations, evening meetings arranged, and frequent flights by jet from Texas to Little Rock sealed the deal. When the dust settled, I owned half of a make-up company, donated funds to build a new wing on the jail, enacted programs to feed the homeless and bought out a defunct bottling plant.

Karma took a hand. Dr. Sam had just discovered porcine blood more closely resembled human and was again in the testing phase. The additional vitamins still separated from the hemoglobin. He tried adding carbonization, in hopes the bubbling action would keep the product stirred. The result was bloated vampires. No one wanted to be on the receiving end of a blood belch.

Raf kept up his habit of donating blood for research and dropped by the lab at least once a week.

“Ow!” Raf joked with the tech. She jerked back in horror, pulling the catheter right out of his arm.

“I’m sorry did I hurt you?” A drop of thick, dark, blood dripped on a slide waiting to be covered. “Shit!”

Raf giggled.

“It’s not funny. This is like the ten thousandth slide I’ve done today. Dr. Sam has us testing coagulates on the nutrient enhanced pig blood. I can’t remember if this is a blank or already loaded.” She sighed, slipped the cover on the slide and placed it under the electron microscope then, adjusted the view. She drew away from the eyepiece; a frown furrowing her forehead, then peered in again. Tearing herself away she screamed, “Dr. Sam!”

The varying particulates drew together to form a cohesive liquid. We went into production a few months later. Since the blood came from pigs and the state mascot was a feral hog, the beverage was dubbed, Razorback Red.

To celebrate our victory and Raf’s role in it, I took him to purchase a car. Money was no object, the choice his.

“This one’s purr-fect!” He squealed excitedly. The car salesman cast longing glances in his direction. Raf smiled back and batted his long, curly lashes.

I had to admit the fuchsia Honda Civic suited him, although the Bite Me vanity plate he ordered, might have been a bit much.

We resided in the downtown area in a converted warehouse loft. Raf was in his element and I turned him loose to decorate as he saw fit. He made it home.

Our endless search seemed to be drawing to a close; expectation replaced the air of urgency. Raf’s personality turned bubbly and effervescent. He made small talk with strangers, helped little old ladies cross the street and flirted with abandon. He came alive. . .well as alive as a dead man can.

The new laws required us to register in our home states. We signed the registry as numbers five and six. A year later that number had increased a hundred fold. Raf was in Little Rock, and to Little Rock they came. All saw him as their ruler, sovereign and father, but Raf wouldn’t allow their groveling. He was no one’s master, nor wanted to be.

After a little over a century with me, he seemed to have found level footing at last.

Razorback Red quickly became the number one selling blood beverage in the country. Dr. Sam rolled some of the profits over into more research, one very important to him. Suicide was increasing at an alarming rate among us. Decades, even centuries of living in fear and darkness took its toll. Each day one read in the news of another vampire who stood his ground as the sun rose, only to be incinerated by the warmth of its rays. Sam believed the cause was similar to SLDD, seasonal light deficit disorder in humans, only far more severe. Sunlight, artificial or natural, a vital part of human treatment was a bit trickier with vampires. Naturally, vampire cadavers were used in the first stages of his research.

Tired at the end of a long night, where he had forgotten to feed…again, Sam ordered his assistant to go home.

“Go, before the dawn.” He insisted in his clipped English. “I will stay in the lower level apartment. It is there for just such occasions.”

The tech tossed the severed arm into the tanning bed used in the experiments and left. Sam sat on the control as he gulped a RR down. He shut and shielded his eyes from the glow shining behind him through the glass partition. When he blindly shut off the switch, imagine his surprise when instead of a pile of ash, he found the arm still whole.

“To-mas! To-mas! A miracle!” His excitement rendered him almost unintelligible on my voice mail the next night.

Had I been there, had anyone been there to stop him, the discovery would never have been made, but we weren’t. Donning protective eyewear, he had climbed into the tanning bed and hit the remote. Luckily for Sam and suicidal vampires everywhere, the bulbs lacked some key element of the sun’s spectrum. Instead of being cremated, Sam emerged with a healthy glow to his skin and a heightened sense of well being in his mind.

A year of testing and trials, followed by patent pending and approval and we were ready to embark on our new enterprise.

www.debbievaughan.com

Previous chapters of Tom's Story at http://getbit-bymyfreereads.blogspot.com

Upcoming Release: Feed, Prey, Love

Feed, Prey, Love
By D. H. Starr

Within the next month or two, I have a new release coming out through Ai Press called Feed, Prey, Love. I am a huge fan of fantasy/paranormal stories and currently have two contracted works that fit this genre with several more in the works. With the wealth of vampire stories out there, how do you create a story that is at once enjoyable, yet original at the same time. While I tend to be humble, I think I may be justified in congratulating myself on creating an original spin on a time old topic.

Talib drinks blood, but not enough to kill. He has the power to read minds and is also able to control the thoughts of others (which he only does to erase the memory of being fed upon in his prey). Vampires are created organically through viral transmission in my tale, therefore they are much closer to human than most other vampire tales. They have warm blood, beating hearts, and can be killed in similar ways to most other humans.

Talib lives with guilt, crippling guilt over a lapse in control which caused him to do something in his past that he currently regrets. As a result he lives in seclusion, separating himself from others so as to prevent himself from ever making the same mistake he made in his past. When he meets Conley, the attraction he feels scares him and he retreats. But when a true connection is destined, Talib is unable to hide from what fate has in store.

The other hero of my story is Conley. Conley is a sweet, but strange guy. He's hot, well-built, and has the most gorgeous green eyes. He's also highly intellectual, but socially awkward. His fascination with knowledge and history are what he enjoys talking about most, somethng that turns off prospective lovers. What he has come to realize is that men want him for his body, but never for his mind.

When Talib and Conley meet, both feel the draw of attraction while their natural instinct to recoil, to protect themselves, kicks in. But once they connect, there's no turning back. But if the hurdle of overcoming one's own hangups was difficult to manage, dealing with all of the forces that conspire to break the two lovers apart is ten times more challenging.

In Feed, Prey, Love, the first of a series of books following the paranormals and humans who cohabitate in the condominium complex catering to both populations, I have explored a darker side to relationships and what people will do to protect the ones they love.

In the end, the book explores the question: Just what lengths will you go to for the man you love?

Excerpt:

His eyes struggled to open the next morning, the haze from the fairy dust and nectar of the valley lingering in his system. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, Conley planted his hands on his knees and pushed himself into an upright position and walked into the bathroom.

As he relieved himself, head tilted back, his bladder emptying itself, a heavy stream echoed in the room as his broke the water’s surface. As his muscles relaxed, memories from the previous evening filtered into his mind. 

Talib and his dark hair which shone in the light and frames his flawlessly smooth, pale skin. The careening heat of the shower he had taken before he went to sleep and the electric orgasm which had racked his body. As images flooded his mind, his nerves came alive, causing his blood to course and his mind to sharpen. 

It had been a long time since he had such visceral reactions to anything. The fact that a man, or more precisely a vampire, was causing him to react so strongly generated a mix of emotions within him, fear and excitement dueling for the front spot.

As Conley walked back toward his room, the scent of coffee wafted through the air. As tempting as his the caffeine was, he headed back to his room and grabbed his jock strap, a pair of cotton shorts, and a tank top. A run, pumping his muscles, taking in the bright greens and blues of a cloudless Providence summer day, this is what Conley craved; what he needed.

He hadn’t stepped two feel out of the elevator at the lobby level when he was confronted with the one thing that had set his mind and body in motion. Even though he had his back to Conley, there was no mistaking that Talib was walking outside. Without saying a word, as if his mind had called to Talib, the beautiful pale man turned to face him, eyes wide, sapphire blues burning from within.

His throat closed as he tried to suck in air, a tingling heat travelling in slow motion up the length of his spine. As if frozen to the spot, his body refused to move. My God, he’s even more beautiful in the daylight. A marathon wouldn’t run this image out of my head. Once again, Talib reacted, as if he had been able to pick the thought out of Conley’s mind. But instead of the tension and reticence that had characterized his behavior the night before, this morning, Talib smiled and walked toward him. With each step that drew him closer, Conley became more acutely aware of the tightness in his lungs; his need for air.

It wasn’t until Talib was standing directly before him and spoke that Conley was finally able to draw in a breath. “I’m sorry I left like I did last night. I wasn’t feeling terrible well.”

Conley breathed in deeply through his nose, the cool air working its way into straining lung tissue. He wasn’t feeling well. I guess there’s no point in calling him out on that excuse. To his surprise, as soon as he finished the thought, Talib’s smile broadened and a slight chuckle escaped his lips. Was there a hint of nervousness to that laugh?

Talib glanced down at his palms. “Actually, that’s not the entire truth. I was feeling a bit shy. I’m not used to meeting people who engage in such genuine conversation right from the start. It caught me off guard…in a good way.”

Tension slowly ebbed from his muscles. This was a good thing. Talib was complimenting him. “I’ll admit, I was disappointed that you left. I’m not used to meeting people who…” 

What was he supposed to say? I’m only used to people wanting me for my body? Once I open my mouth people realize that I’m a freak? “I found our conversation to be stimulating. Not many people relate to my appreciate of knowledge.”

Conley shifted from foot to foot waiting for Talib to look at him, to be able to read his reactions, to see if he was withdrawing or opening up. When Talib did look up, his brow was slightly furrowed, a slight sadness behind his eyes. It was a similar sadness as the one Conley had seen in his mind the night before, by this sadness didn’t seem to be internally directed. This time is seemed to be directed at him.

The silken gently voice caressed Conley, releasing his tension even more. “Well, if people don’t appreciate what an intelligent man you are, it’s their loss.” One simply statement and all of the tension returned, but not an unpleasant tension, and there was only one muscle that was beginning to strain. “Where are you off to?”

Conley had completely forgotten that he was about to go for a run. “I was, I’m about to…” Words. You’ve used them all your life. Speak.

Talib’s smile spread across his face, broader than before. Conley’s eyes were immediately drawn to the canines, slightly elongated, sharp, perfect within the confines of Talib’s pouty lips, lips Conley imagined would be soft when pressed against his own. The tension within his shorts increased and he had to shift from foot to foot to readjust himself without being too obvious about it.

“…A run?”

Heat rushed to his face and Conley was sure he had turned a bright shade of red. “Yes. I like to run on days like today, especially during the summer when colors seem to be more vibrant.”

Once again, blue eyes caught him in a piercing stare. They remained locked in a silent gaze for a few moment longer than would occur between two relative strangers before Talib spoke. “The things you say. Each word and phrase show your appreciation of the world around you. It’s quite refreshing.”

He wasn’t sure whether it was the new wave of spine tingling electricity, the final lengthening of his cock, of the heat that continued to flood his cheeks that motivated him to move, but remaining still was no longer an option. “Listen, I was just heading out, but maybe we can continue this sometime?”

Talib stiffened for a split second, his shoulders becoming slightly more rigid, and then immediately relaxed. It wouldn’t have been perceptible if Conley hadn’t been so focused on him. “Y-yes. I’d like that.” His voice didn’t contain the same level of confidence as it had before, the words expressed what Conley wanted to hear.

For the third time during this chance encounter, the two of them stood silently, staring at each other, eyes locked. A million questions flooded Conley’s mind, but something held him back from talking. When can I see you? Why are you so guarded? Why aren’t I?

Talib stared at his palms once again, then reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. “What’s your number. I’ll give you a call and we can set something up.”

Conley’s brain shifted back into gear. He quickly gave Talib his number. “I look forward to hearing from you.” He said it while moving toward the front door. He needed to move, to run, to work off the tension and energy building up inside of him. 

As he stepped outside into the bright summer morning, cool air caressed his skin, fresh and rejuvenating. He took a few steps, and then broke into a jog. Within minutes, he was running at a fairly quick pace. With each pat of his food against the pavement, he pushed thoughts of Talib aside, only to have new thoughts of the mysterious man to fill his mind once again.

What was it about this man that caused Conley to drop his guard? Why was he so interested in learning about the beautiful, pale vampire who seemed to keep him at arm’s length?  All judgment told him to use his typical caution, to protect himself. There was no reason to believe that Talib was different from anyone else. Even as he thought it, his mind recoiled at the though.

Talib with nothing like the other men he met and Conley wanted, more than he ever had, to get to know him whether he ended up getting hurt or not.