Janine Ashbless's Blog, page 88
October 6, 2014
Blue Monday
Every Monday I post a naughty excerpt for your entertainment.
Whilst I was away, Cover Him with Darkness CAME OUT!!! - it's available on Amazon even though the official paperback launch is still to come.
So here goes ... and the set-up for this scene is that, released now from his prison, the fallen angel Azazel is pursuing Milja through her dreams.
Amazon US : Amazon UK
It was a room full of international models. The women looked that way anyway, and I was sure that some of their faces were familiar from magazines. The men mostly just looked incredibly well-heeled and pleased with themselves. Both genders stood around holding cocktail glasses and laughing as they talked. Photographers prowled the crowd armed with oversized flashbulbs. Through open doors I could see an azure sea, but inside the room were full-sized palm trees and a colossal aquarium two stories high, in which sharks swam among brightly colored corals.
It looked like the champagne party of the year.
I walked through slowly, looking left and right. My own dress was bright scarlet and nearly floor-length, though it left my arms and a deep V of cleavage bare. The material was soft and clung to my thighs like silk kisses.
Azazel just didn’t like underwear, I was forced to accept.
I found him sitting in a leather armchair, talking to a group of people around a small table. He hadn’t bothered to get dressed up at all, but looked exactly as he had last time—which was enough to make my blood race. He beckoned me over, but there was no space for me to sit so he patted his knee. I perched obediently, and he drew me into his lap.
“Where are we?” I asked. Sitting like this, our heads were just about on a level. He slipped one hand over the small of my back, caressing me, and my spine arched like a cat’s.
“I’ve no idea. Some party. I thought you might like to try this very very expensive drink.” It came in a fluted glass and looked like champagne with little flakes of gold in it. It tasted like sunlight and went straight to my head with the first sip. “Nice?”
“Yes. Azazel…why me? Why do you want me?”
Just for a moment he took his attention off my body and looked me in the face. “What a strange thing to ask.”
“I mean, look at you. Look at you! You could have practically any woman here that you wanted, even without threatening to massacre her family or reduce her country to ash or whatever your usual chat-up line is. Really beautiful, clever women. Why me?”
“You think me devoid of all sentiment? You were there. You fed me. You freed me.”
I recalled only too well what Uriel had said about me feeding him. I wet my lips.
“What was your last girlfriend like?”
He watched my expression, smiling slightly. “A little shorter than you. Long red hair. Mismatched eyes—one brown, one green.” There was a glint of teeth beneath his lip. “Are you jealous of a woman dead five thousand years, Milja?"
“Hell no. I just…wondered.”
“She was an oracle, in a village on the edge of a great river. She would breathe the fumes of certain leaves and tell people what futures lay before them, and she would dance under the moon to call the wild ibex down from the steppe. I was…very fond of her.”
I wondered what the hesitation hid. He looked a lot calmer in this new dream, I thought, though his right hand was stroking my back and his left caressing my thigh in a way it was hard to ignore. I thought of his wild dancing Pythia and asked, “Did you have any children?”
The light went out of his eyes. “We had three.”
That shook me, for some reason. “What happened to them?”
“The boys were killed. The girl…I don’t know. I hope her mother hid her.” He put his face to my hair and inhaled. “Talk about something else.”
“I’m sorry.”
His fingers slid into the valley of my breasts and he kissed my temple.
“I met the Archangel Uriel.” It was the only conversation topic that I could bring to mind. Between neckline and navel my scarlet dress was held closed by loops of golden wire snagged over filigree toggles. Azazel was fiddling with the top one. For a moment he went still.
“Be careful of him.” His whisper was warm on my ear, but I couldn’t see his face. “He’s not your friend.”
“I worked that one out.”
The first loop fell open, revealing a little more of my cleavage. Azazel had me sat semi-facing the other people round the table. I wasn’t remotely interested in them, but I wondered if they were watching. A glance from under my lowered lashes told me they were, sort of, though carrying on their own conversations.
“Will he come after you?”
“What?” Azazel’s voice was lazy and full of husky tones that made me shiver. His lips brushed the whorls of my ear.
“Will the archangels come to lock you away again?”
“They might. Would you be sorry?”
I shuddered. There were hot and cold flashes running up and down my body, and I could feel the tight points of my breasts poking against the sheer fabric of the dress. A second loop slipped, and now my neckline was not just low but plunging.
Azazel celebrated by touching my nipple through the cloth and tracing a circle that made me whimper under my breath. “You like being watched,” he said.
“That’s not true.” My mouth had gone dry.
“You like me touching you in public.”
I was sweating lightly. It’s shame, I told myself, as he returned to the toggles and slipped a third. It’s shame, not excitement. The men around the table had mostly stopped talking now, their conversation stumbling to a halt. A woman giggled.
“Please,” I whispered, closing my eyes.
“I own you,” he said. “You are mine. These are mine. If I want to…I will bare you in front of everyone, Milja. And you will let me.”
He tugged the slash of my dress open—just a little, not enough to be obscene—and slipped a hand beneath to play with my breast. Just fingertips. My nipple felt like a blazing sun as he traced orbits. “What’re you doing, man?” someone said weakly. “That’s not right.” “Azazel!” I whimpered.
“Do you want them to see, Milja?” His voice, thick with lust now, was hot against my ear. “Do you want them all to see how you belong to me? I will let them look at your breasts. Then I will pull up your dress and put my hand between your legs and make you come. You won’t be able to stop me. You won’t be able to stop yourself. All these people will see.”
“Smile everyone!” A burst of light went off beyond my closed lids.
I looked. I couldn’t help it. The little cluster of socialites at the table were blinking and staring and didn’t know where to put themselves. Two photographers stood before us, and another flash went off capturing the whole group.
“Hey,” said one of the paparazzi, realizing what was going on under his nose and suddenly focusing in on Azazel and me in our big armchair. “We have seen.”
I didn’t have the wits left to wonder at his odd phrasing.
“You’re mine,” the fallen angel growled. Then he let his fingers drift out from their nest, catching the cloth as they went. He revealed my left breast in full, my nipple haloed in pink like a rising sun.
Flashguns exploded.
He took the loose cloth at my shoulders and drew my open dress off, baring me from throat to waist. Back straight, eyes lowered, blushing and shuddering, I sat upon his lap and knew myself owned.
Amazon US : Amazon UK (the paperback is released at the end of the month in the UK)
Whilst I was away, Cover Him with Darkness CAME OUT!!! - it's available on Amazon even though the official paperback launch is still to come.
So here goes ... and the set-up for this scene is that, released now from his prison, the fallen angel Azazel is pursuing Milja through her dreams.
Amazon US : Amazon UK
It was a room full of international models. The women looked that way anyway, and I was sure that some of their faces were familiar from magazines. The men mostly just looked incredibly well-heeled and pleased with themselves. Both genders stood around holding cocktail glasses and laughing as they talked. Photographers prowled the crowd armed with oversized flashbulbs. Through open doors I could see an azure sea, but inside the room were full-sized palm trees and a colossal aquarium two stories high, in which sharks swam among brightly colored corals.
It looked like the champagne party of the year.
I walked through slowly, looking left and right. My own dress was bright scarlet and nearly floor-length, though it left my arms and a deep V of cleavage bare. The material was soft and clung to my thighs like silk kisses.
Azazel just didn’t like underwear, I was forced to accept.
I found him sitting in a leather armchair, talking to a group of people around a small table. He hadn’t bothered to get dressed up at all, but looked exactly as he had last time—which was enough to make my blood race. He beckoned me over, but there was no space for me to sit so he patted his knee. I perched obediently, and he drew me into his lap.
“Where are we?” I asked. Sitting like this, our heads were just about on a level. He slipped one hand over the small of my back, caressing me, and my spine arched like a cat’s.
“I’ve no idea. Some party. I thought you might like to try this very very expensive drink.” It came in a fluted glass and looked like champagne with little flakes of gold in it. It tasted like sunlight and went straight to my head with the first sip. “Nice?”
“Yes. Azazel…why me? Why do you want me?”
Just for a moment he took his attention off my body and looked me in the face. “What a strange thing to ask.”
“I mean, look at you. Look at you! You could have practically any woman here that you wanted, even without threatening to massacre her family or reduce her country to ash or whatever your usual chat-up line is. Really beautiful, clever women. Why me?”
“You think me devoid of all sentiment? You were there. You fed me. You freed me.”
I recalled only too well what Uriel had said about me feeding him. I wet my lips.
“What was your last girlfriend like?”
He watched my expression, smiling slightly. “A little shorter than you. Long red hair. Mismatched eyes—one brown, one green.” There was a glint of teeth beneath his lip. “Are you jealous of a woman dead five thousand years, Milja?"
“Hell no. I just…wondered.”
“She was an oracle, in a village on the edge of a great river. She would breathe the fumes of certain leaves and tell people what futures lay before them, and she would dance under the moon to call the wild ibex down from the steppe. I was…very fond of her.”
I wondered what the hesitation hid. He looked a lot calmer in this new dream, I thought, though his right hand was stroking my back and his left caressing my thigh in a way it was hard to ignore. I thought of his wild dancing Pythia and asked, “Did you have any children?”
The light went out of his eyes. “We had three.”
That shook me, for some reason. “What happened to them?”
“The boys were killed. The girl…I don’t know. I hope her mother hid her.” He put his face to my hair and inhaled. “Talk about something else.”
“I’m sorry.”
His fingers slid into the valley of my breasts and he kissed my temple.
“I met the Archangel Uriel.” It was the only conversation topic that I could bring to mind. Between neckline and navel my scarlet dress was held closed by loops of golden wire snagged over filigree toggles. Azazel was fiddling with the top one. For a moment he went still.
“Be careful of him.” His whisper was warm on my ear, but I couldn’t see his face. “He’s not your friend.”
“I worked that one out.”
The first loop fell open, revealing a little more of my cleavage. Azazel had me sat semi-facing the other people round the table. I wasn’t remotely interested in them, but I wondered if they were watching. A glance from under my lowered lashes told me they were, sort of, though carrying on their own conversations.
“Will he come after you?”
“What?” Azazel’s voice was lazy and full of husky tones that made me shiver. His lips brushed the whorls of my ear.
“Will the archangels come to lock you away again?”
“They might. Would you be sorry?”
I shuddered. There were hot and cold flashes running up and down my body, and I could feel the tight points of my breasts poking against the sheer fabric of the dress. A second loop slipped, and now my neckline was not just low but plunging.
Azazel celebrated by touching my nipple through the cloth and tracing a circle that made me whimper under my breath. “You like being watched,” he said.
“That’s not true.” My mouth had gone dry.
“You like me touching you in public.”
I was sweating lightly. It’s shame, I told myself, as he returned to the toggles and slipped a third. It’s shame, not excitement. The men around the table had mostly stopped talking now, their conversation stumbling to a halt. A woman giggled.
“Please,” I whispered, closing my eyes.
“I own you,” he said. “You are mine. These are mine. If I want to…I will bare you in front of everyone, Milja. And you will let me.”
He tugged the slash of my dress open—just a little, not enough to be obscene—and slipped a hand beneath to play with my breast. Just fingertips. My nipple felt like a blazing sun as he traced orbits. “What’re you doing, man?” someone said weakly. “That’s not right.” “Azazel!” I whimpered.
“Do you want them to see, Milja?” His voice, thick with lust now, was hot against my ear. “Do you want them all to see how you belong to me? I will let them look at your breasts. Then I will pull up your dress and put my hand between your legs and make you come. You won’t be able to stop me. You won’t be able to stop yourself. All these people will see.”
“Smile everyone!” A burst of light went off beyond my closed lids.
I looked. I couldn’t help it. The little cluster of socialites at the table were blinking and staring and didn’t know where to put themselves. Two photographers stood before us, and another flash went off capturing the whole group.
“Hey,” said one of the paparazzi, realizing what was going on under his nose and suddenly focusing in on Azazel and me in our big armchair. “We have seen.”
I didn’t have the wits left to wonder at his odd phrasing.
“You’re mine,” the fallen angel growled. Then he let his fingers drift out from their nest, catching the cloth as they went. He revealed my left breast in full, my nipple haloed in pink like a rising sun.
Flashguns exploded.
He took the loose cloth at my shoulders and drew my open dress off, baring me from throat to waist. Back straight, eyes lowered, blushing and shuddering, I sat upon his lap and knew myself owned.
Amazon US : Amazon UK (the paperback is released at the end of the month in the UK)
October 5, 2014
Sunscreen
The results of exposing pasty English skin to sunlight for one morning's snorkelling...
September 21, 2014
Gone swimming
Because that's what any sensible author does when her books are coming up to release...
*sigh*
Back online in October!
September 19, 2014
Phenology - September
Warm September brings the fruit,
Sportsmen then begin to shoot.
"The Umbelliferae have died back to sticks." I couldn't find a rhyme for that.
It has been warm this September. Very little rain. The trees are starting to look a bit tired and droopy - hinting at autumn colours but not quite there yet. Maybe by the end of the month...
But the adult crane flies (daddy-longlegs) are tunneling out from under the grass and bumbling despairingly around inside houses and cars, before leaving awkward corpses scattered on every surface. And that's a sure sign that summer is over.
There is an odd (modern) piece of folklore about daddy-longlegs: that they are the most venomous arthropod/creature in the country ... but we are saved because their mouthparts are just too feeble to bite humans. I imagine them gnashing their little mandibles in frustration and weeping poisonous tears.
Fortunately, none of this is true :-)
The real natural phenomenon of September is apples:
Apples:
And more apples:
Associated in legend with forbidden knowledge, eternal youth, temptation and sin, female sexuality (that seems to follow on from the former, huh), love magic ... where do I start?
Statue of Alan Turing in Manchester
Never mind - someone has already done it :-)
Sportsmen then begin to shoot.
"The Umbelliferae have died back to sticks." I couldn't find a rhyme for that.It has been warm this September. Very little rain. The trees are starting to look a bit tired and droopy - hinting at autumn colours but not quite there yet. Maybe by the end of the month...
But the adult crane flies (daddy-longlegs) are tunneling out from under the grass and bumbling despairingly around inside houses and cars, before leaving awkward corpses scattered on every surface. And that's a sure sign that summer is over.
There is an odd (modern) piece of folklore about daddy-longlegs: that they are the most venomous arthropod/creature in the country ... but we are saved because their mouthparts are just too feeble to bite humans. I imagine them gnashing their little mandibles in frustration and weeping poisonous tears.
Fortunately, none of this is true :-)
The real natural phenomenon of September is apples:
Apples:
And more apples:
Associated in legend with forbidden knowledge, eternal youth, temptation and sin, female sexuality (that seems to follow on from the former, huh), love magic ... where do I start?
Statue of Alan Turing in ManchesterNever mind - someone has already done it :-)
September 17, 2014
Catching up
The new Hungarian cover of the Thrones of Desire anthology :-)Release Dates:
Cover Him With Darkness has been put back slightly - the official launch date is now 1st November but there will be what they call a soft launch (i.e. the book will actually be for sale) earlier: Amazon listings suggest 14th October.
Fierce Enchantments is set for an e-book release mid-October, with paperbacks to follow late November/ early December.
Fifty Shades of Green:
Fifty Shades of Green is in paperback - Look at my loverly box o' books! I've been sending these review copies out to previously smut-free zones like BBC Gardeners' World and the Royal Horticultural Society. There will be quaking amongst the petunias.
New Anthology:
As Kinky as You Wanna Be is a forthcoming BDSM guide book that addresses practical issues of safety and good etiquette and how not to make your partner run for the hills. It's edited by Shanna Germain and is going to be goddamn brilliant. It also contain some inspirational pieces of fiction, including an excerpt from my story
Jump or Fall?
which originally appeared in Sweet Love (ed Violet Blue) - the most badly misnamed and mis-marketed erotica/kink anthology ever.Jump or Fall? is a story I'm particularly proud of - it addresses the issue of responsible sadism in a kink relationship, and made me nervous to write ... which is usually a good sign. I'm really glad it's getting a second chance.
As Kinky as You Wanna Be will be out in November.
September 15, 2014
Not so blue Monday
Guess who posted an excerpt yesterday instead of today, as part of the the Snog for Sommer fundraiser?
Sunday instead of Monday?! Has the world gone MAD? Is there no end to the chaos?!
September 14, 2014
A Snog for Sommer
I don't do an enormous amount of kissing in my books. But this is a special occasion - fifty-eight writers (58!!!) have got together for a fundraiser bloghop. Full details here, where you can access links to all participants. Here's my Snog for Sommer: an excerpt from my Arabian Nights romantic adventure Heart of Flame.
When she was ready, she approached on foot and ordered the Lion Most Strong to stand back, and it released Rafiq who let out a grunt of surprise. He struggled up onto his knees, blinking at her, his face crusted with sand. “Taqla,” he groaned.
She stepped in as he lurched to his feet and punched him as hard as she could in the face. At the last moment he saw her fist and flinched away so her knuckles stuck him only a glancing blow, which was perhaps a good thing because she managed to skin her knuckles on his teeth and split his lip even so. He staggered a little. She clenched her stinging fist, shocked how much it had hurt her and blaming him for that too.
"Bastard! Thief!”
“Taqla—” He lifted a hand in dismay to his bleeding lip.
“You stole my Horse! You dumped me in the desert! You son of a whore!” She was burning too hotly with fury to judge her attacks. When she struck again at his face, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her hard against him, seizing the other hand as it flailed, and wrestling both wrists behind her to pin them at the small of her back. She was still too angry to be afraid. “How could you?” she spat. “After everything we’ve been through! Everything you promised!”
“Taqla!” he shouted as she twisted furiously in his arms. “Shut up! Stop it! Listen to me!”
“I hope street dogs eat your corpse!”
“Stop!”She stopped struggling to draw breath, snarling. He was very strong and held her easily, his face over hers.
“Taqla, I’m sorry.” His eyes burned. “Listen. Listen. I haven’t betrayed you. Believe me.”
“You left me!”
“I had to take the Horse. I am sorry, but I need it to find the house of the djinni. I had no choice. I would have returned it when I could.”
“Tell me your ass is made of solid gold and you shit diamonds! Shall I believe that too?”
He shook his head, teeth bared. “Taqla—I left because I couldn’t bring you with me and see you hurt.”
“Me—hurt? Haven’t I saved your life before now? Haven’t you needed me every step of this journey?”
“Yes!” He turned his face aside so he could spit blood into the sand, then caught her gaze again, his eyes hot with anguish. “Yes. I’ve needed you. But this is different. There’s so much chance of you getting killed—”
“You think I’m afraid?”
“No. Never. Taqla, listen to me. I couldn’t see you hurt for my sake. I couldn’t bear it.”
“We had a bargain,” she snapped. “We were in it together. You get what you want and I get what I want.”
He shook his head as if in pain, and when he spoke again it was under his breath. “I read the scroll.”
“What?”
“The spell in the Scroll of Simon.”
She felt as if she’d been kicked in the stomach. “Oh,” she said, while the import of his words sank in and the desert seemed to reel about her. It had never occurred to her that he would be able to read Greek. She was suddenly horribly conscious of the way he was holding her up tight against his hard body. “No,” she whispered, trying to shrink away from him. She couldn’t move an inch.
“How could I let myself hurt 'she who loves me the most'? I couldn’t let you risk your life out of love for me.” His voice was soft, all shouting done.
“No, you’ve misunderstood…”
“Taqla, why are you scared of admitting it?”
“I… It isn’t like that…”
“Isn’t it? What is it like then? Tell me.”
She groaned. His lips curved, self-deprecating, as if knowing he was inviting another blow.
“I think I know exactly how it feels. Taqla, is it not obvious that I’ve been falling in love with you this whole time?”
She went still, her eyes widening.
He smiled lopsidedly because of his split lip. “I’ve been like a man sliding down a sand dune, trying to keep on my feet and all the time falling. Can’t you see that?”
She tried to speak but for once had no words. Not even when he bent his head and kissed her through her veil. She felt the warm softness of his lips on hers and the ghost of his breath through the silk. Her heart slammed painfully in her chest, sending the blood roaring through her head.
Quietly, while his lips still held hers, he let go of her wrists. One hand stayed to hold her close to him, but the other rose to touch her face through the folds of her headscarf. Then he drew back a little so he could look into her eyes. She could read his intent. She knew what he was going to do and the voices of warning were roaring in the back of her mind, but still she didn’t resist when he gently drew down the fold of her veil and bared her face, though she shivered at the touch of his fingertips. A warm pleasure danced in his eyes. He brushed his thumb across her lips and whispered her name.
“As honey on my lips, I love you. As breath in my lungs, as water in the desert, I love you.” Then he stooped again to kiss her for the second time, his mouth bruised and sweet and—under the gentleness—hungry. He tasted of blood.
Taqla’s inner voices of reason and propriety were shrieking with dismay now. Rafiq had crossed a line that should never be crossed. She was in terrible danger, they told her. She was a fool, and he was an opportunistic dog, and this was the worst move she’d ever made.
She heard them all, and she let them go. She gave up thinking. She let the future fly from her grasp so that she could feel what was happening to her now, in this wonderful, terrifying moment when the whole world turned inside out and his hands were on her and her body was melting against his in a way that she could never even have imagined. When they broke for breath she reached up and touched his jaw, tracing her fingers over the hard bone and the inflorescence of dark stubble as if to convince herself he was real. A new world of textures and sensations was opening to her. She brushed the outline of his lips and he bit softly at her fingertips.
“I was right,” he murmured. “You do have a beautiful smile.”
She hadn’t even been aware she was smiling. It wasn’t a wide one, just a tentative curve of her lips.
“I’ve never seen it till now, you know.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“What for?”
Sorry for hiding her smile from him? Sorry for being afraid? She hardly knew. She touched the bloody contusion on his lip. “For hurting you.”
“Oh, I can take worse.”
Please do consider donating to Sommer's fund!
September 12, 2014
Wearing my other hat
What do you mean, it looks like my normal hat? It seems like months ago, but it was only last week that I attended FantasyCon 2014 in York. It's a much more book-focused affair than Nine Worlds, and I was there under my Other Name as a writer of horror stories (though there were more erotica writers there than most people realise. We are everywhere, lurking, taking notes and waiting for the moment we rise up and conquer the world....)
My latest short appears in Terror Tales of Yorkshire (edited by Paul Finch) pictured above - and so hot off the presses they haven't even got the cover up on Amazon yet.
I had a terrific time (ho ho!) and met lots of friends old and new, even if the hotel bar prices gave me the shock of my goddamn life. There was a superb panel on the professional editing process which gave me a whole new appreciation for the role of my editors - they are not just there to make authors cry and correct spelling: they are advocates and cheerleaders for your books within the publishing company so you really need as happy a relationship with your editor as you can possibly manage.
Fran Terminiello - 15th Century rapier and bucklerThere was also an exceptionally good panel on the realities of swordplay and how to make it more convincing in a novel - with demonstrations from the panelists who are all keen martial artists in various disciplines.
Juliet E McKenna - AikidoInterestingly, the two panelists who expressed an opinion both said that if they were facing a swordsman in a life-or-death fantasy situation ... they'd rather be armed with a staff or spear!(Personally I'd go for a crossbow.)
And here below is the only (albeit slim) evidence in the whole world that I am prepared to get down and boogie at a disco, given it is Eighties enough. I blame the Gollancz Free Bar. For everything.
Photo by Annie Catling. I'm just glad it wasn't taken during "Jump Around".
September 10, 2014
BOOK LAUNCH NEWS!!
Phwoar - what a lovely pair, eh?Here it comes - the official double-action launch party for two dark and sexy novels! Kristina Lloyd and I are getting together to launch and celebrate our respective novels with live readings and bubbly!It's taking place at SH! Women's Erotic Emporium, in London, on the 18th October.
Full details here. Please do come along and ask questions, listen to our readings, and help us get over our agonising nerves :-)
And here on the SH! Blog I address the fundamental question - Is Cover Him With Darkness just another goddamn angel romance?
September 8, 2014
Blue Monday
Every Monday I post a rude excerpt for your entertainment.
Justine Elyot has pointed out that it is the five-year anniversary of Sexy Little Numbers, the very last of the Black Lace anthologies. AARGH!! Where does the time go?!
So naturally today's excerpt is from Michaelangelo's Men , my contribution to that very fine collection:
You see, I always knew I liked watching men. I didn’t know I liked watching them together until a few years back when I went to a friend’s wedding. It took place in a northern castle, which sounds flash and bits of it are, but it’s been converted into a university college so actually there’s a lot of pokey little corridors and student rooms hiding away behind the banqueting hall and the medieval galleries. I ended up late at night climbing a turret staircase and switching on lights as I went, like someone in a fairy story exploring the forbidden wing of their palace. What I found up the tower wasn’t a wicked fairy with a spinning wheel but a unisex toilet, which suited me fine. I was in a state that night, having just quarrelled with my boyfriend of the time – I can’t even remember what had set it off now, just that he’d said something and then I said something and then he said something else and I’d walked off in tears. So I was pleased to have a room miles from the party, all to myself. The room was L-shaped with five cubicles and I sat down behind the row of sinks, next to the hot water pipes, and had a good weep and felt self-righteously tragic like you do when you’re young. After a while the room light, which was on a timer, went off and I sat in the dark and sniffled.
Then I heard feet coming up the stairs. I thought it might be someone looking for me so I just scrunched down into my space and said nothing when the door opened. It was two men; I saw that as the fluorescent tube flickered on. They weren’t looking for me or anyone else; they had eyes only for each other. One of them I sort of recognised - he was the groom’s uncle, I think: middle-aged and blond going silvery at the temples, but fit looking, in a raw-boned Scandinavian sort of way. He was wearing a tux, I remember, and a blue cummerbund. I recalled even at the time that he’d sat at the high table with his wife. He set his back to the door as it closed and pulled the other bloke to him, firmly. That guy was younger and darker and it was obvious he wasn’t quite keen on kissing, but that’s what the older man did; gripped the back of his head and pulled his mouth to his own.
Two guys kissing. I froze, hoping I was invisible behind the sinks, hoping that the blood that’d rushed to my face wasn’t lighting me up like a neon beacon. Then as the tongue-wrestling went on I gradually let myself focus on the action. Those men kissed like they were starving to death and fighting over the last scrap of food. Stubble scraped stubble. Teeth flashed. Little gasps broke free of their lips. And their hands – they were all over each other, pulling at shirts and grabbing for crotches. Flies were yanked down releasing twin erections that butted up together aggressively, hot sticky lengths rubbing one on the other. The younger guy groaned and babbled a string of swearwords. The older one caught him by the short hair at the back of his scalp and pushed him to his knees, while his other hand mastered his own erection. It was a big, gnarly, tough looking cock, I thought. The guy on his knees stared at it with an expression of awe and stretched to lick it. No way was that allowed; fingers tightened on his scalp and his head was jerked back.
‛Ask nicely, bonny boy.’ The heavy cock-head bobbed.
‛Please!’ His eyes were bright with need. His lower lip trembled. The standing man grinned.
‛OK then.’
That’s when I saw for the first time one man take another’s cock in his mouth. It changed me forever. I watched a cute, dishevelled looking guy - who I wouldn’t have minded chatting up myself - eagerly swallow the rigid length of a man twice his age, and I heard them both make noises of gratitude in their throats, the giver with a whimper, the receiver with a huffed ‛Um.’ I saw blue cheeks stretch to take the girth and then skin shining with spittle withdrawing momentarily, only to plunge in again. And I thought I was going to dissolve into a puddle of my own juices, so wet and hot and weak was I, my whole body pulsing to the beat in my sex. All my old self-pity was blown away, like I’d been struck by lightning.
You’ve got to realise this was in the years B.H.B: Before Home Broadband. I’d not really seen that many erect cocks either in the flesh or in photographs, never mind two blokes at it together.
The blow job was quick and efficient. The groom’s uncle lurched and grabbed the other guy’s head in both hands and pumped into his mouth and ejaculated down his throat. For a moment they separated and the guy on the floor knelt back, breathing hard and licking his lips, his own hard-on standing ruddy and stiff despite comparative neglect. He took it in his sweaty hand and began to jack it.
‛Hey.’ With a monosyllable the older man brought a stop to the masturbation. Kneeling himself, he faced his fellator and took his frustration in hand and the younger man leaned back, visibly surrendering control. Up and down slid that big, masterful hand on that stiff cock. Firm and then fast – faster than I’d ever managed giving a hand job – until strands of pale spunk were squirting between his fingers. He captured most of the sticky mess in his hand, anointing the guy’s purplish cock with his own ooze. The younger man gasped and gasped and shut his eyes, seeming to sink into a trance.
Then the groom’s uncle stood, quite matter of factly, to tuck his own cock away. It was when he turned toward the sinks to wash his hands that he saw me. He stopped.
‛Oh shit,’ said the younger guy, his eyes open now, fixed in my direction.
‛Why ... I don’t think there’s anything to worry about.’ The older man had a much better view of my flushed face, and could read my expression rather more clearly. He stepped toward me and I just stared. I couldn’t even blink. ‛You’re not going to tell anyone, are you hinny?’
He held his hand out. His sticky fingers. He touched my parted lips and I opened them and let him slip his spunky fingers into my mouth. Believe me, my whole body was so fucking wet and yielding then that if he’d put a loaded gun to my mouth I would have wrapped my lips around it and sucked.
‛Canny lass,’ he said. He left me with the grassy, salty taste of his lover on my tongue.
That was it: my first time seeing two blokes together. I knew right then that this was it: this was my Thing, capital T.
Sexy Little Numbers is available as a paperback or in Kindle format: Amazon US : Amazon UK
Justine Elyot has pointed out that it is the five-year anniversary of Sexy Little Numbers, the very last of the Black Lace anthologies. AARGH!! Where does the time go?!
So naturally today's excerpt is from Michaelangelo's Men , my contribution to that very fine collection:
You see, I always knew I liked watching men. I didn’t know I liked watching them together until a few years back when I went to a friend’s wedding. It took place in a northern castle, which sounds flash and bits of it are, but it’s been converted into a university college so actually there’s a lot of pokey little corridors and student rooms hiding away behind the banqueting hall and the medieval galleries. I ended up late at night climbing a turret staircase and switching on lights as I went, like someone in a fairy story exploring the forbidden wing of their palace. What I found up the tower wasn’t a wicked fairy with a spinning wheel but a unisex toilet, which suited me fine. I was in a state that night, having just quarrelled with my boyfriend of the time – I can’t even remember what had set it off now, just that he’d said something and then I said something and then he said something else and I’d walked off in tears. So I was pleased to have a room miles from the party, all to myself. The room was L-shaped with five cubicles and I sat down behind the row of sinks, next to the hot water pipes, and had a good weep and felt self-righteously tragic like you do when you’re young. After a while the room light, which was on a timer, went off and I sat in the dark and sniffled.
Then I heard feet coming up the stairs. I thought it might be someone looking for me so I just scrunched down into my space and said nothing when the door opened. It was two men; I saw that as the fluorescent tube flickered on. They weren’t looking for me or anyone else; they had eyes only for each other. One of them I sort of recognised - he was the groom’s uncle, I think: middle-aged and blond going silvery at the temples, but fit looking, in a raw-boned Scandinavian sort of way. He was wearing a tux, I remember, and a blue cummerbund. I recalled even at the time that he’d sat at the high table with his wife. He set his back to the door as it closed and pulled the other bloke to him, firmly. That guy was younger and darker and it was obvious he wasn’t quite keen on kissing, but that’s what the older man did; gripped the back of his head and pulled his mouth to his own.
Two guys kissing. I froze, hoping I was invisible behind the sinks, hoping that the blood that’d rushed to my face wasn’t lighting me up like a neon beacon. Then as the tongue-wrestling went on I gradually let myself focus on the action. Those men kissed like they were starving to death and fighting over the last scrap of food. Stubble scraped stubble. Teeth flashed. Little gasps broke free of their lips. And their hands – they were all over each other, pulling at shirts and grabbing for crotches. Flies were yanked down releasing twin erections that butted up together aggressively, hot sticky lengths rubbing one on the other. The younger guy groaned and babbled a string of swearwords. The older one caught him by the short hair at the back of his scalp and pushed him to his knees, while his other hand mastered his own erection. It was a big, gnarly, tough looking cock, I thought. The guy on his knees stared at it with an expression of awe and stretched to lick it. No way was that allowed; fingers tightened on his scalp and his head was jerked back.
‛Ask nicely, bonny boy.’ The heavy cock-head bobbed.
‛Please!’ His eyes were bright with need. His lower lip trembled. The standing man grinned.
‛OK then.’
That’s when I saw for the first time one man take another’s cock in his mouth. It changed me forever. I watched a cute, dishevelled looking guy - who I wouldn’t have minded chatting up myself - eagerly swallow the rigid length of a man twice his age, and I heard them both make noises of gratitude in their throats, the giver with a whimper, the receiver with a huffed ‛Um.’ I saw blue cheeks stretch to take the girth and then skin shining with spittle withdrawing momentarily, only to plunge in again. And I thought I was going to dissolve into a puddle of my own juices, so wet and hot and weak was I, my whole body pulsing to the beat in my sex. All my old self-pity was blown away, like I’d been struck by lightning.
You’ve got to realise this was in the years B.H.B: Before Home Broadband. I’d not really seen that many erect cocks either in the flesh or in photographs, never mind two blokes at it together.
The blow job was quick and efficient. The groom’s uncle lurched and grabbed the other guy’s head in both hands and pumped into his mouth and ejaculated down his throat. For a moment they separated and the guy on the floor knelt back, breathing hard and licking his lips, his own hard-on standing ruddy and stiff despite comparative neglect. He took it in his sweaty hand and began to jack it.
‛Hey.’ With a monosyllable the older man brought a stop to the masturbation. Kneeling himself, he faced his fellator and took his frustration in hand and the younger man leaned back, visibly surrendering control. Up and down slid that big, masterful hand on that stiff cock. Firm and then fast – faster than I’d ever managed giving a hand job – until strands of pale spunk were squirting between his fingers. He captured most of the sticky mess in his hand, anointing the guy’s purplish cock with his own ooze. The younger man gasped and gasped and shut his eyes, seeming to sink into a trance.
Then the groom’s uncle stood, quite matter of factly, to tuck his own cock away. It was when he turned toward the sinks to wash his hands that he saw me. He stopped.
‛Oh shit,’ said the younger guy, his eyes open now, fixed in my direction.
‛Why ... I don’t think there’s anything to worry about.’ The older man had a much better view of my flushed face, and could read my expression rather more clearly. He stepped toward me and I just stared. I couldn’t even blink. ‛You’re not going to tell anyone, are you hinny?’
He held his hand out. His sticky fingers. He touched my parted lips and I opened them and let him slip his spunky fingers into my mouth. Believe me, my whole body was so fucking wet and yielding then that if he’d put a loaded gun to my mouth I would have wrapped my lips around it and sucked.
‛Canny lass,’ he said. He left me with the grassy, salty taste of his lover on my tongue.
That was it: my first time seeing two blokes together. I knew right then that this was it: this was my Thing, capital T.
Sexy Little Numbers is available as a paperback or in Kindle format: Amazon US : Amazon UK
