S.J. Lewis's Blog, page 5
September 11, 2010
Minda The Bold (Chapter 1 Part 1) by S J Lewis
Minda picked her way carefully through the forest, taking pains not to make any noise even as her ears strained to hear any sounds that might be made by a lurking enemy.She had somehow strayed far afield in her scouting and now she was in a part of the forest unfamiliar to her. Danger could lie in wait behind any tree, any bush, any fallen log. But she was not afraid. No, indeed, she never felt more alive than when she was out ahead of her band, seeking for the foe. True, she was a girl, but she was no mere girl. The other members of her band had come to respect her abilities, and now they were reluctant to venture forth without her keen eyes and sharp ears to guide them.
But today she was not having a good day. She had been hearing faint noises, or catching subtle movements out of the corner of her eye since shortly after setting out, and following those signs had led her to this unfamiliar place. She stood close behind a tree to listen more carefully. For the past few minutes conditions had been very strange. It was so still that there was not even the slightest breeze to ruffle the leaves overhead. There was nothing to hear but the occasional bird call, and the air felt so heavy that even those were oddly muffled. She paused, half-crouching, one hand supporting her against the tree trunk while with the other she clutched her weapon tightly. She suddenly feared that she had been enticed far from her band and into an ambush. Her heart began to race. She fought it back down with slow, deep and careful breathing, poised to fight or flee.
There was a sudden burst of noise behind her, either running feet scuffling the leaf litter or some startled small animal. She did not turn to see what was the cause. Her first instinct was to take cover. She darted behind the tree.
Or, rather, she tried to dart behind the tree. Before she could take more than a step she collided with someone coming the other way. Her head bumped solidly against a bare chest, hard, muscular and hairy. The scent of fresh male sweat filled her nostrils. All thought of controlling her breathing fled. She gave one high, startled yelp and tried to recoil from the obstruction, bringing her weapon up to defend herself. But one hard hand seized her weapon and easily twisted it from her grasp. As she tried to back away her heel caught on a tree root. She fell heavily onto her back among the leaves, now unarmed and defenseless. Wide-eyed, she stared up at the man. He was much older than she, tall and lean and deeply tanned, his face covered with several day's worth of dark stubble. His hair, just as dark as his beard, was only slightly longer. He looked back down at her with piercing dark eyes. She had never seen this man before. For a long moment, neither of them moved. He lifted the weapon he had taken from her and looked at it, disregarding her for a moment. Then he looked back at her and grinned.
"You people," he chuckled, shaking his head. "Aren't you a little bit lost, missy? Here, let me help you up." He leaned forward, offering a hand.
"I'm not lost," she replied. It came out more unsteady and high-pitched than she had intended. No longer Minda the Bold but mere Melinda Bennett now, she did not immediately reach up for his hand. He wore faded jeans and heavy work boots, and his blue work shirt hung open. Though he was smiling now, she didn't know him. So far from her teammates, she felt suddenly very alone.
"Oh, come on, missy," he urged. "You're perfectly safe. Or are you too comfortable lying there to get up just now?"
Melinda frowned up at him, then reached for his hand. It was big and hard and warm and he helped her to her feet without apparent effort. He handed her weapon back to her, butt-first.
"Thank you," Melinda nodded as she accepted it.
"Isn't that kind of old school?" he asked her.
Melinda regarded her weapon. It was old, yes, a bolt-action, single shot paintball gun, no different from the ones that were used for marking cattle. She looked back up at the man. He seemed so much taller than she was that she had an urge to step back away from him. She resisted it. He didn't seem threatening at all now, and Minda the Bold would not retreat under these circumstances.
"We like it this way," she replied. "You have to make every shot count." She didn't add that as a college student she couldn't afford anything better. Neither could her classmates.
"You a good shot with that thing?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Then I guess your buddies will be needing you. You might want to get back to them."
"I really am kind of lost," Melinda admitted sheepishly. "Do you know where they are?"
The man looked away past Melinda. He turned his head slowly right and left, as if trying to hear a faint noise. She saw his nostrils flare briefly before he cocked his head to one side and paused.
"Over that way, I'd guess," he said, pointing. "Maybe a half mile or so. You really did get lost."
Melinda turned to look for herself. She didn't hear or see anything.
"How do you know that?" she demanded as she turned back to face him. He just smiled.
"I've been here long enough to get the lay of the land," he answered. "Over that way's where you people usually play your games."
"Oh," Melinda said. "Well, I guess I'll be going now. Thanks, mister...?"
"Call me Jesse," he said. "Jesse Semmes."
"Okay." Melinda nodded. "Thanks, Jesse. I'm Melinda. Melinda Bennett. I'm a student at the college." She held out her hand.
"My pleasure, Melinda," he said as he took her hand and shook it gently. He was smiling again, but it was a different smile than it had been before. Before, he had simply seemed to find her and her predicament amusing. Now Melinda thought that she could see some new speculation in his eyes as he looked at her, as if he had just realized that she was an attractive young woman. It would have been more flattering and less disturbing if they hadn't been all alone out here in the woods. Melinda felt her hand tingling as she pulled it free of his. She turned away from him and began walking. She paused once and looked back over her shoulder to see if he was still watching her, but there was no sign of him. She wondered who he was, and what he was doing so far out in the woods. As far as she knew, there weren't any houses out this way. And what was he doing walking around with his shirt open? And it wasn't that warm out today, so what had he been doing to work up a sweat?
The memory of his scent came back to her, abruptly and powerfully. She stopped and stood still, not exactly overcome by the recollection, but certainly distracted for the moment. Then it all passed. She shook her head, smiled to herself and set out to find her band again. Without Minda to guide them they could easily get into trouble.
The first member of her band that she found was Jason, the tall, thin, pale math whiz who was studying electrical engineering. He was trudging along slowly, looking disappointed if not quite dejected, his yellow shooting goggles pushed up onto his forehead. There were three bright orange paint splashes on his torso. Obviously 'dead' for this round, he must be on his way back to where the casualties had to wait for the next round to begin.
"Jason!" Minda called out when he didn't notice her. "What happened to you? Where is everybody?"
Startled, Jason looked up and saw her. "We got ambushed," he said. "Where were you?"
"Uh," Minda hesitated. "I got lost somehow," she confessed sheepishly. "I went off in the wrong direction. How many got hit?"
"Just me," Jason replied. "I was walking point, and I guess I got a little bit careless since we hadn't heard anything from you."
"Sorry," Minda apologized.
"I guess anybody can have a bad day," Jason said with a shrug. "They're over thataways." He pointed back the way he had come. "Can't tell you any more. Gotta go."
"See you next game," Minda called back over her shoulder as she trotted off to find her band. Yes, there was no doubt that they needed her. She looked and listened for any sign that might help to guide her to them. Faintly, she heard someone yelling from somewhere up ahead, and then more yelling, either in answer or in challenge. It sounded like they were still some distance off.
But today she was not having a good day. She had been hearing faint noises, or catching subtle movements out of the corner of her eye since shortly after setting out, and following those signs had led her to this unfamiliar place. She stood close behind a tree to listen more carefully. For the past few minutes conditions had been very strange. It was so still that there was not even the slightest breeze to ruffle the leaves overhead. There was nothing to hear but the occasional bird call, and the air felt so heavy that even those were oddly muffled. She paused, half-crouching, one hand supporting her against the tree trunk while with the other she clutched her weapon tightly. She suddenly feared that she had been enticed far from her band and into an ambush. Her heart began to race. She fought it back down with slow, deep and careful breathing, poised to fight or flee.
There was a sudden burst of noise behind her, either running feet scuffling the leaf litter or some startled small animal. She did not turn to see what was the cause. Her first instinct was to take cover. She darted behind the tree.
Or, rather, she tried to dart behind the tree. Before she could take more than a step she collided with someone coming the other way. Her head bumped solidly against a bare chest, hard, muscular and hairy. The scent of fresh male sweat filled her nostrils. All thought of controlling her breathing fled. She gave one high, startled yelp and tried to recoil from the obstruction, bringing her weapon up to defend herself. But one hard hand seized her weapon and easily twisted it from her grasp. As she tried to back away her heel caught on a tree root. She fell heavily onto her back among the leaves, now unarmed and defenseless. Wide-eyed, she stared up at the man. He was much older than she, tall and lean and deeply tanned, his face covered with several day's worth of dark stubble. His hair, just as dark as his beard, was only slightly longer. He looked back down at her with piercing dark eyes. She had never seen this man before. For a long moment, neither of them moved. He lifted the weapon he had taken from her and looked at it, disregarding her for a moment. Then he looked back at her and grinned.
"You people," he chuckled, shaking his head. "Aren't you a little bit lost, missy? Here, let me help you up." He leaned forward, offering a hand.
"I'm not lost," she replied. It came out more unsteady and high-pitched than she had intended. No longer Minda the Bold but mere Melinda Bennett now, she did not immediately reach up for his hand. He wore faded jeans and heavy work boots, and his blue work shirt hung open. Though he was smiling now, she didn't know him. So far from her teammates, she felt suddenly very alone.
"Oh, come on, missy," he urged. "You're perfectly safe. Or are you too comfortable lying there to get up just now?"
Melinda frowned up at him, then reached for his hand. It was big and hard and warm and he helped her to her feet without apparent effort. He handed her weapon back to her, butt-first.
"Thank you," Melinda nodded as she accepted it.
"Isn't that kind of old school?" he asked her.
Melinda regarded her weapon. It was old, yes, a bolt-action, single shot paintball gun, no different from the ones that were used for marking cattle. She looked back up at the man. He seemed so much taller than she was that she had an urge to step back away from him. She resisted it. He didn't seem threatening at all now, and Minda the Bold would not retreat under these circumstances.
"We like it this way," she replied. "You have to make every shot count." She didn't add that as a college student she couldn't afford anything better. Neither could her classmates.
"You a good shot with that thing?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Then I guess your buddies will be needing you. You might want to get back to them."
"I really am kind of lost," Melinda admitted sheepishly. "Do you know where they are?"
The man looked away past Melinda. He turned his head slowly right and left, as if trying to hear a faint noise. She saw his nostrils flare briefly before he cocked his head to one side and paused.
"Over that way, I'd guess," he said, pointing. "Maybe a half mile or so. You really did get lost."
Melinda turned to look for herself. She didn't hear or see anything.
"How do you know that?" she demanded as she turned back to face him. He just smiled.
"I've been here long enough to get the lay of the land," he answered. "Over that way's where you people usually play your games."
"Oh," Melinda said. "Well, I guess I'll be going now. Thanks, mister...?"
"Call me Jesse," he said. "Jesse Semmes."
"Okay." Melinda nodded. "Thanks, Jesse. I'm Melinda. Melinda Bennett. I'm a student at the college." She held out her hand.
"My pleasure, Melinda," he said as he took her hand and shook it gently. He was smiling again, but it was a different smile than it had been before. Before, he had simply seemed to find her and her predicament amusing. Now Melinda thought that she could see some new speculation in his eyes as he looked at her, as if he had just realized that she was an attractive young woman. It would have been more flattering and less disturbing if they hadn't been all alone out here in the woods. Melinda felt her hand tingling as she pulled it free of his. She turned away from him and began walking. She paused once and looked back over her shoulder to see if he was still watching her, but there was no sign of him. She wondered who he was, and what he was doing so far out in the woods. As far as she knew, there weren't any houses out this way. And what was he doing walking around with his shirt open? And it wasn't that warm out today, so what had he been doing to work up a sweat?
The memory of his scent came back to her, abruptly and powerfully. She stopped and stood still, not exactly overcome by the recollection, but certainly distracted for the moment. Then it all passed. She shook her head, smiled to herself and set out to find her band again. Without Minda to guide them they could easily get into trouble.
The first member of her band that she found was Jason, the tall, thin, pale math whiz who was studying electrical engineering. He was trudging along slowly, looking disappointed if not quite dejected, his yellow shooting goggles pushed up onto his forehead. There were three bright orange paint splashes on his torso. Obviously 'dead' for this round, he must be on his way back to where the casualties had to wait for the next round to begin.
"Jason!" Minda called out when he didn't notice her. "What happened to you? Where is everybody?"
Startled, Jason looked up and saw her. "We got ambushed," he said. "Where were you?"
"Uh," Minda hesitated. "I got lost somehow," she confessed sheepishly. "I went off in the wrong direction. How many got hit?"
"Just me," Jason replied. "I was walking point, and I guess I got a little bit careless since we hadn't heard anything from you."
"Sorry," Minda apologized.
"I guess anybody can have a bad day," Jason said with a shrug. "They're over thataways." He pointed back the way he had come. "Can't tell you any more. Gotta go."
"See you next game," Minda called back over her shoulder as she trotted off to find her band. Yes, there was no doubt that they needed her. She looked and listened for any sign that might help to guide her to them. Faintly, she heard someone yelling from somewhere up ahead, and then more yelling, either in answer or in challenge. It sounded like they were still some distance off.
August 24, 2010
Baby, if you don't tell me, how am I going to know?
Book reviews are an important part of an author's life. Good reviews are nice. Glowing reviews are even better, but often the most useful review is one that is critical. An erotica publisher with a successful author (i.e., one that sells a lot of books)isn't likely to pass one of those on for fear of upsetting a writer's delicate ego. Some authors can be very touchy about their work.
Then there are the reviews that never get written. You can infer them by checking sales figures, and usually that's as far as it goes. But once in a while you do something a bit different with your writing and that finally prompts a reader to say something.
Recently, I had my first nonconsensual book published. One reader/acquaintance told me that it was just about perfect from his point of view. Then there was a woman who felt very strongly otherwise. She began by writing that she was a big fan of mine, and had all of my books except one. She went on to say that she really didn't like 'Tanya' at all. She then continued by saying how much she liked all the other books, especially 'Female Prey', 'The Elusive Prey' and 'Augustin's Island', giving each book a 9 out of 10 rating and suggesting what I might add to a future book to bring it up to a 10.
It was all useful information, but it struck me as interesting that she didn't feel moved to express herself until she came across something that she didn't like. I plan to use her advice in the future, and I'm quite happy that she likes most of my books so much, but it would have been both handy and encouraging to know this earlier.
Then there are the reviews that never get written. You can infer them by checking sales figures, and usually that's as far as it goes. But once in a while you do something a bit different with your writing and that finally prompts a reader to say something.
Recently, I had my first nonconsensual book published. One reader/acquaintance told me that it was just about perfect from his point of view. Then there was a woman who felt very strongly otherwise. She began by writing that she was a big fan of mine, and had all of my books except one. She went on to say that she really didn't like 'Tanya' at all. She then continued by saying how much she liked all the other books, especially 'Female Prey', 'The Elusive Prey' and 'Augustin's Island', giving each book a 9 out of 10 rating and suggesting what I might add to a future book to bring it up to a 10.
It was all useful information, but it struck me as interesting that she didn't feel moved to express herself until she came across something that she didn't like. I plan to use her advice in the future, and I'm quite happy that she likes most of my books so much, but it would have been both handy and encouraging to know this earlier.
August 7, 2010
I also write some poetry
Reflection on a relationship that failed:
I thought about both of us often and long,
Until finally came the day,
When I knew you'd return to me time and again,
But you would never stay.
I thought about both of us often and long,
Until finally came the day,
When I knew you'd return to me time and again,
But you would never stay.
Question
I have a question for anyone who enjoys maledom-type erotic fiction. Do you prefer the female character to be weak and helpless, or strong and confident (but going along for the ride), or something in between?
July 18, 2010
Introduction
I'm S J Lewis. I've been writing erotic fiction novels since 2003, and even today some readers aren't sure if I'm a man or a woman. I'm a man, just to clear that up. I have ten novels published so far, and very little feedback from any readers as to what they thought about my work. I'd be interested in hearing from anyone with something to say here, be it good or bad.
