Kay Jaybee's Blog, page 104

Guest Blog with Richard Wagner- Sex and Dying- An Amateur’s Guide…

A few weeks ago I was chatting away with my good friend Richard Wagner (aka Dr Dick) about life, the universe, and everything, when we began to discuss the promotion of his latest book- The Amateur’s Guide To Death and Dying; Enhancing the End of Life, and the conflict that occurs when his Dr Dick persona is revealed…

This is not the usual sort of book I feature on my site- but as you’ll see from the post below- we discussed an issue that is very relevant indeed to so many people… It frustrates me greatly that because Richard instructs about a healthy sexual life and personal wellbeing, obstacles are thrown in his way!

I’ll hand over to Richard now- this is fascinating stuff…

Thank you for inviting me to do this guest posting today.

As I was telling Kay during our Skype call the other day, I’ve been running into some difficulties as I try to promote my new book, The Amateur’s Guide To Death and Dying; Enhancing the End of Life.  The death and dying professionals I approach with the good news of its recent publication are initially delighted to hear from me.  Several big names in the field have congratulated me on my success and even suggested we collaborate.

Then the most curious thing happens.

When I write back, I always tell them about my other online personality, Dr Dick of http://www.drdicksexadvice.com/.  And that’s where the communication ends.

Those same death and dying professionals, the ones who at first were so enthusiastic about my new book, stop responding to email.  The first few times this happened, I just chalked it up to them being busy.  But then I began to see a pattern.  It’s clear to me now that these people are uncomfortable with sex, sexuality and intimacy concerns, particularly as they applies to the lives of sick, elder and dying people.

 

Of course, this doesn’t come as a huge surprise to me, but it is disconcerting.

So, maybe this would be a good place for me to tell your audience a little more about my book and why I wrote it.

The Amateur’s Guide To Death And Dying is specifically designed for terminally ill, chronically ill, elder, and dying people from all walks of life.  But concerned family and friends, healing and helping professionals, lawyers, clergy, teachers, students, and those grieving a death will also benefit from reading the book.

The Amateur’s Guide To Death And Dying is a workbook that offers readers a unique group/seminar format.  Readers participate in a virtual on-the-page support group consisting of ten other participants.  Together members of the group help each other liberate themselves from the emotional, cultural, and practical problems that accompany dying in our modern age.

The Amateur’s Guide To Death And Dying helps readers dispel the myth that they are incapable of taking charge during the final season of life.  Readers face the prospect of life’s end within a framework of honesty, activity, alliance, support, and humor.  And most importantly readers learn these lessons in the art of dying and living from the best possible teachers, other sick, elder, and dying people.

The Amateur’s Guide To Death And Dying engages readers with a multitude of life situations and moral dilemmas that arise as they and their group partners face their mortality head on.

The Amateur’s Guide To Death And Dying offers readers a way to share coping strategies, participate in meaningful dialogue, and take advantage of professional information tailored to their specific needs.  Topics include spirituality, sexuality and intimacy, legal concerns, final stages, and assisted dying.  The book does not take an advocacy position on any of these topics.  It does, however, advocate for the holistic self-determination of sick, elder, and dying people, which can only be achieved when they have adequate information.

Facing your mortality with the kind of support The Amateur’s Guide To Death And Dying offers does not eliminate the pain and poignancy of separation.  Rather it involves confidently facing these things and living through them to the end.

Of special interest to Kay’s audience perhaps, and also my favorite, is Chapter 6 of my book, titled, Don’t Stop.  I collaborated with my dear friend, the internationally known sex educator and therapist, Dr. Cheryl Cohen Greene (http://www.drdicksexadvice.com/2012/03/28/podcast-326/ ) on this chapter about sexuality and intimacy.

We begin by posing 5 simple questions to help our readers focus their attention on their sexuality and intimacy needs.

1. How important is sexuality in your life?

2. Is there’s a difference between sexuality and intimacy?

3. Do you have a range of options in which to experience your sexuality?  If yes, what are some of them?

4. How well are you able to communicate your needs for sex and/or intimacy to your partner(s)?  Are there any specific issues that get in the way of asking for what you need?

5. What are your biggest concerns about your sexuality as it relates to your disease, aging and/or dying process?

Cheryl sums up the reason for incorporating this chapter in the book.

“Sexuality and intimacy are important topics for us to consider, because there is so little information out there about these things for elders and those of us who have life-threatening conditions.  The assumption, I suppose, is that sick, aging and dying people don’t have sexual and intimacy concerns, so why even bring it up?

That ridiculous assumption is so prevalent, even among healing and helping professions, that I’m forever having to confront it with, ‘Hey, we’re not dead yet.’”

Cheryl goes on share her particular situation, which begins the group process that follows.

“Let me tell you a little about what I experienced when I was being treated for cancer.  To be blunt, the cancer and subsequent chemotherapy destroyed my sex life.  The thought of being touched in an intimate way made me very uncomfortable.  I wasn’t even able to have an orgasm.  My life was shattered and I couldn’t find anyone to help me piece it together again.  I was on my own.

I had to learn to cope with the dramatic changes in my body, changes that not only interfered with my personal sexual life, but also effectively halted my professional life as a surrogate partner.  Finding a way through this mess wasn’t gonna be easy because I had my partner’s feelings to deal with as well as my own.  I couldn’t very well put him on hold indefinitely.

In the beginning the hardest part was the communication with my partner.  I had to learn an effective way to talk to him under these very trying circumstances.  The bottom had fallen out of our sex life and neither one of us knew how to deal with that.

It wasn’t just that I was feeling tired and sick all the time; I was having no sexual feelings at all.  But I was also painfully aware of his desire to connect with me.  He was so afraid that I was going to die and yet he didn’t know how to be close to me anymore.  It was a stressful time for both of us.”

Cheryl and I break open this terribly important discussion and we do so with a refreshing frankness that is completely unprecedented in books on this topic.  We not only address the pressing concerns of the group members — body image, hormone replacement therapy, masturbation, reconnecting with a partner, arousal dysfunction etc., we also give them practical suggestions on how to handle their concerns — effective communication techniques, sensate focus and guided-hand sensual touch exercises, etc.

One pressing concern for many is privacy.

People who live in an institutional setting like an extended care facility, hospital or hospice, may have a problem securing enough privacy for their intimate and sexual moments.  Even though you have a right to your privacy, you may find that you must be very proactive in securing this right for yourself.  Many of the attending staff in these settings are sensitized to a patient’s privacy needs, but the patient may still have to ask for what he/she needs.

Cheryl and I invite our readers to begin to explore what is possible now in your sex life.  We suggest that they avoid comparing what they are able to do now with how it once was.  We advise that they keep their exploration simple and open-ended.  Don’t create a goal to be achieved.  And most of all we suggest that they keep it playful while honoring their limits.

Here’s my philosophy; I insist that we are all entitled to intimacy and pleasure in our lives, regardless of how our body looks or at what stage of life we are at.  The fact that we might be sick, elder, or dying need not cut us off from these precious life-enhancing things.  We need to take the lead in defining what it is that we need, and then communicate that to those we love.  We ought to have confidence that this will be as enriching for them as it will be for us.

Thank you, Kay for this opportunity to share this with you and your audience.

You are more than welcome Richard. Thank you very much for taking the time to do this post for us today on a subject that is so vital to so many.

I totally agree with your point about privacy- often one of the first sacrifices of illness.

It annoys me beyond measure that so many intelligent professionals back out of promoting anything- from a book to an idea- simply because its originator has connections with the world of erotica in whatever form.

If you’d like to buy this incredible volume, then here’s a direct link you can use:  http://tinyurl.com/bs3vsf2

Huge thanks to Richard for sharing his thoughts and book with us today.

Kay xx

Crossing To The Saucy Side – Guest Blog with Tabitha Rayne

Wowee – I’m excited to be on your blog today Kay -

I’ve been thinking about how people come to the saucier side and what better place to blurt out my thoughts than here?

It’s a theme I love to explore – how one little sensation can set off a chain of events where you might find yourself in a completely unexpected place, doing things you’d never even dreamed of…

Lena, the hero in my new novel, does just that – while training to become a collector (more in the blurb), she finds herself blossoming from a sexually naive young woman to a lustful goddess who craves the cane and bondage.  I loved being on the journey with this character – how shy she is at first to voice her desires – I wonder if that’s something a lot of people can identify with. Feeling insecure about our own fantasies and crossing the line into reality.

I wanted to share a moment in my book, A Clockwork Butterfly, where Lena is feeling constrained by her duties and tries to ease her feelings of helplessness by wrapping herself in her sheets, as a metaphor for her situation. Comfort comes in a different way and brings with it an unexpected new desire…

“Don’t fucking follow me, Mae,” she shouted over her shoulder, holding up her hand in a way that she hoped looked like she meant what she said.

In her bunk, Lena closed her eyes and tried to make sense of the enormity of her situation. Rationally, and with the sense of duty so insistently rammed into her by her mother and the society as a whole, she knew what her responsibilities were. But emotionally, she was furious. She wanted to run around the place shrieking and tearing it apart. Her heart was broken. She felt humiliated and used.

Winding her sheets around her as tight as she could, she tried to constrict any movement that would hint at her being alive with her own free will. She wanted to physically mimic the constraint she felt here in this place and in her head. Wrapping up her entire body, including her head and face, she took care to pull tight around her chest and neck. The swaddling impeded her movements and slowed her mind. Pressure mounted all over her body. It eased on her ankle, so she stretched her leg out a little to tighten the bindings. Her breath was heating up the fabric around her face and she lay for a few moments, descending into her own thoughts.

It dawned on her that there was really nothing she could do about any of it. The women were told they were free to leave at any time, but Lena knew the gates were sealed. There was no way to leave without full cooperation from the Archmatria. Lena would have to do her time.

Fine. She would lie back with her legs open. They could do what they wanted with her body, but Lena made a pact with herself that her mind would remain guarded at all times.

Inhaling as deeply as she could in her bindings, she began to unwrap herself. Her arms were pinned fast to her chest and she wriggled trying to ease herself free. It was no good. As she wriggled, she got more tangled and hot. Panic took hold of her as the heated material encasing her face began to suffocate her. Muffled shouts swam in her own ears as she thrashed and writhed around her bed trying to break free.

“Lena! What the hell…” Mae yanked the sheet from Lena’s face and she gulped in air, choking and spluttering into her enemy’s face.

“Fuck off, Mae.” She hissed, feeling humiliated once more.

She was hot, sweaty, and still tangled when Mae straddled her, placing her succulent lips over Lena’s, kissing her hard. Lena pushed her head forward, trying to force her off, but Mae’s tongue had found a way in and snaked around inside, exploring and calming her. Lena gave in. What else could she do? If her sex juices were being procured to intoxicate some poor man’s sperm, well Lena could understand that sort of spell. Mae had well and truly cast one on her.

While pinning her to the bed, Mae devoured Lena’s mouth, shifting from her face to her neck. Lena concentrated on the bindings, tightening then releasing. It was arousing to feel so helpless and heat gathered between her tightly wrapped thighs.

Mae stopped kissing and roughly rolled Lena onto her front.

“You don’t know how special you are,” Mae whispered. She reached down to Lena’s bottom, smoothing the linen bandages over her buttocks. Lena responded by lifting her hips, pressing her ass up to meet the caresses. “You don’t know. But I know.” Mae’s voice was soft, but there was an edge to it that Lena hadn’t heard before. A hint of anger, perhaps? Lena’s pussy dampened at the thought that she’d driven Mae to fury. Would Mae punish her?

Mae harshly tugged at the sheets encasing Lena’s ass and yanked and pulled until her cheeks were exposed. Lena held her breath. She was terrified and excited all at once. Smack! A noise split the electrified silence a second before the raw sting came. Her ass burned then smack! Smack! Smack! All in quick succession, getting harder each time. Mae was angry and taking it out on Lena’s bare flesh. She tensed and braced herself for the next onslaught. And it came. Hard.

The smacking sounds echoed around the room and Lena could no longer distinguish the echoes from the actual blows; they were coming so quickly. Mae was breathing hard and the occasional grunt would follow the smacks. It made Lena wet and horny. She circled her constrained hips and wiggled her thighs as best she could to try and get relief. The smacks had stopped and Mae blew her cooling breath over Lena’s painful buttocks, soothed it with her palm, and gently probed the depths between with her fingertips…

A Clockwork Butterfly by Tabitha Rayne – Futuristic Erotic Romance

Blurb:

Lovers torn apart by duty…will Angelo and Lena be reunited?

Mankind is close to extinction. Toxins have all but wiped out the male population. The remaining fertile men are housed in manors where their seed is collected.

Lena Lee is a new collector with a rare pheromone believed to reignite human fertility. She’s assigned a male who’s predicted to be her perfect match.

Angelo, a clockwork butterfly maker, is held captive, his essence harvested daily by Lena. Over time, the couple begins to fall in love, something which is strictly prohibited. When their forbidden love is discovered, Lena is banished from the manor.

Torn apart by the duty that brought them together, Lena and Angelo must find a way back to each other. But even if Angelo manages to escape, he doesn’t know where to find Lena. Will following the path of the clockwork butterfly lead him to his true love?

Content Warning: strong language, BDSM, and graphic sexual content, including m/f, f/f, and f/f/m sexual interaction

Watch a trailer for A Clockwork Butterfly here!

And if you fancy a bit of my futuristic hot erotic action – here’s all the places you can buy it!

Beachwalk Press

Barnes & Noble

All Romance Ebooks

BookStand

Amazon UK

Amazon USA

Thanks so much for having me today Kay x x

It’s my pleasure Tabitha Rayne! The Clockwork Butterfly looks great- and what a wonderful trailer! Many thanks for coming to visit today.

Kay x

It’s Kay’s 7th Anniversary! News, Novel Alert, and More News!!

Okay- so how on earth did it get to September again? More to the point, how can I have reached yet another anniversary of writing erotica?

This month marks the seventh year of my alter ego Kay Jaybee’s existence!! I was only going to try this writing lark for fun. A hobby to see if I could do it – something to do beyond looking after my children. Is it me, or had it got a little bit out of hand? Has writing taken over my life?

There is one very simple answer to that- YES

This is NOT a complaint however – although there are certainly times when I wish I could turn my imagination off just for a little while! For example, I am quite certain I shouldn’t hear the water escaping down the bath plug hole and think, gosh that’s quite sinister, how could I use that to make someone suffer and have fun at the same time…

As each summer comes around, I down my smut wielding pen for the duration of my children’s school holidays, and frequently question my sanity. What the heck am I doing? I get up early, write all morning, work at my ‘proper’ job all afternoon, then write all evening, usually until gone ten at night. And the crazy thing is- when I’m not writing, when I have ‘day’s off’- I’m grumpy!! Every day without writing feels like a waste somehow! This cannot be right.

Then I speak to my writer friends and breathe more calmly again- it seems this clawing at the walls is totally normal when life comes between us and our pens or laptops. We simply have to accept that as soon as we have our first story accepted by a publisher, we leave normality behind us. For at that point the drug has been injected, and we are hooked for life- hooked on getting that next publication… then one more, and maybe a novella, then perhaps a novel- and if that novel does okay, perhaps we’ll write another one…

We are all totally nuts!

And nuts is exactly what this past writing year has been!!

With the elevation of last year’s novel, The Perfect Submissive, from e-book to paperback (not to mention having it split into an e-trilogy format as well), and the publication of my new ultra BDSM threesome semi-romantic(ish) novel, The Voyeur (e-book, or paperback on demand from Amazon), this has been a wonderful year for me with Xcite Books. I must thank them for all their kind support!

I am pleased to announce that my new publications don’t end there for the year however…

Drum roll please!!- I have ANOTHER novel coming out this very month!!!  (Yes I know, it’s like buses, wait ages for one, then loads arrive altogether!)

Let me introduce you to Making Him Wait!

Published by Sweetmeats Press, this novel is the first in their range of non-illustrated books. I am really excited about this one- it will be available soon (when I have a date I will tell you), from Amazon etc, not to mention the WH Smith railway and airport stores.

This is my second work for Kojo Black at Sweetmeats Press (the first being The Circus- a BDSM novella from the anthology Immoral Views), and I must extend a big thank you to him, and his right hand-the wonderful Rachel- who not only kept me up to date with my books progress, but also created the cover- which I can tell you is a perfect picture of Sara, one of the main characters in the book! It really is just how I imagined her.

So what sort of novel is Making Him Wait I hear you ask? Voyeuristic? S&M? Vanilla? Threesomes? MF? FF? An erotic romance maybe?

I think the answer to that is YES. It is all of the above- oh, but not vanilla- as if I would!! And, if you were expecting the usual KJB BDSM- well, yes, there is certainly some of that- but this novel is about a very different type of control- self control…you’ll see!! All I am saying for sure at the moment, is that it all centres around an artist and the creation of her work…

As if that wasn’t enough- I am also awaiting, after the recent arrival of my latest solo anthology, Tied to the Kitchen, the release of another 3 story collection from my archive, entitled Equipment, which will be out with All Romance soon!!

So, what with all this hectic writing, a photo shoot in London, a best seller on Amazon (A Sticky Situation, Xcite Romance), and a hot new commission in hand (my lips are sealed), this has truly been a non-stop, happily hectic, 12 months.

Starting last September, at the end of my fifth year as a writer, with the creation and publication of my OCPress best seller, Not Her Type: Erotic Adventures With A Delivery Man, my sixth year has rounded off with the arrival of The Voyeur and imminent arrival of Making Him Wait!

This really isn’t a hobby anymore is it!!

What on earth with year 7 bring!!!

Kxxx

Free on Amazon! The Voyeur

I’m delighted to announce that from  31st August until 2nd Sept, my latest BDSM e-novel is FREE on both Amazon UK and Amazon.com.

Wealthy business man and committed voyeur, Mark Parker, has a list of thirteen fantasies he is intent on turning into reality. Travelling between his London flat, his plush Oxfordshire mansion, and Discreet, his favourite S&M club; Mark is helped to realise his imaginatively dark erotic desires by two loyal members of his staff. His Personal Assistant, Anya Grant, and his Housekeeper, Clara Hooper.

Upon the backs of his willing slaves, Mark has written out his fantasy list in thick red pen. Only Fantasy 12 awaits the tick of completion against their flesh before Mark’s ultimate fantasy- Fantasy 13- can take place.

But have the girls performed well enough to succeed in the final challenge? And what hold does Anya’s previous employer, the Bridge’s Gentleman’s Club, have over Mark? A place Anya was only too delighted to escape from.

In order to find out, Mark’s girls are going to have to face some of the fantasies they thought they’d left behind them all over again; and while they do, Mark will watch…

Partly voyeuristic fantasy, part psychological challenge with an edge of mystery, but completely BDSM, the tasks set by the voyeur Mark Parker, push his loyal staff to the limit. That loyalty is tested as each challenge is faced, and the reasons behind them begin to become unclear to both Anya and Clara, who privately begin to question Mark’s motives…

Enjoy

K xx

 

It’s Blog Tour Time for The Voyeur!

Yes it’s blog tour time again- this time I’m on my travels with insider information and juicy extracts from my brand new BDSM novel, The Voyeur.

Kicking off on 29th August, you’ll be able to pay me a virtual visit at these locations!

29th August        http://romancelivesforever.blogspot.co.uk/

30th August        http://dawnsreadingnook.blogspot.com/

31st August        http://vampiriquedezire.blogspot.co.uk

5th September   http://bunnysreview.com

6th September   http://kyokochurch.blogspot.com/

As ever- if I really like a comment left by one of you as I visit these 5 fabulous sites, you could be in line to win an e-copy of The Voyeur!

                                                                                                      You can buy The Voyeur as an e-novel from Amazon UK, or as a paperback or e-novel from Amazon.com. (It will be available in paperback in the UK from November)

See you there!!

Kxx

Guest Blog- A Delicious Food Date with Kristal Baird!

I am delighted to have the delicious Kristal Baird visiting my site today! If you weren’t hungry before you read this- you soon will be! Over to you Kristal!

Ever tried a food date? 

                

EVERYONE KNOWS FOOD is delicious. Food is sexy and satisfying.  But can you incorporate food into a healthy sex life? Oh yes. Absolutely. Why not try this for an idea:

Make a food date .

It takes a little planning in advance, but is WELL worth the effort:

     v  First plan a time when you won’t be disturbed. If that means kids (or even pets!) going to the grandparents, so be it. Think up a good reason and stick close to the truth. Say you are going for a romantic dinner – just don’t tell them you’re having it at home. Without cutlery!

v  Food dates mean cooking together. When was the last time you did that? It’s really sexy. Lower the lights by using candles or muted lamps in the kitchen and bedroom. Dress up first – and I don’t mean for going out! I mean sexy lingerie.  Or if you’re REALLY daring, you could cook together naked! (Of course, aprons are allowed, to avoid any nasty little burns.) There is nothing sexier than a naked man or woman wearing only an apron. Try it! [Don’t let your partner spoil the mood with cameras and posing. This is all about the sensations you both feel being close together.] Sip a little Champagne or wine as you work. Not too much now…

v  Think about which foods are going to work for you and how you will both use them. It will be a combination of foods you both adore to eat AND foods that are sexy to play with, sensual to touch and exciting to consume together. You could have a planning meeting where you discuss the things you both want and what you could do with them. You can ask your partner to fulfil some of those sexual fantasies you have read about, or dreamed up. And imagine how naughty you’ll feel in the market, shopping for those items. Blush nicely for the CCTV camera now! And don’t forget to pay for them at the check-out!

v  The anticipation of waiting for the actual date will drive you both wild. (WARNING: other people catching your shy little blushes and smiles together, MAY misinterpret their meaning. But having little secrets between you is very sexy too. Don’t tell!). If you are apart, you can do this through Skype, email or try sexting.

   It will keep you both warmly connected until you are together again. It’s a real tease to have this discussion just before your partner has to leave on a business trip. They will feel like cancelling the whole thing and ripping you straight upstairs with the entire contents of the kitchen food cupboards.

Nearly there :

v  Sexy food is light, delicious, sticky and juicy – you are NOT going for a sleep-inducing blow-out meal here! You have thought about how you plan to use the food. Yes, that’s right – USE IT! Eating is not the only way to enjoy food.

v  Be inventive. Think of tastes, textures, shapes. How sexy has it been to tease your man (or girl) with what you planned to do to them in 2 or 3 days’ time? They will be coming apart at the seams, impatient for the fun to begin…

v  Get ideas from your fave erotic romance authors. I would recommend both Kay Jaybee’s A Sticky Situation:

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Sticky-Situation-Xcite-Romance-ebook/dp/B0086X6XQ8/ref=ntt_at_ep_dpt_4

and Kristal Baird’s  PA Exposé:

http://www.amazon.co.uk/PA-Expose-submission-Romance-ebook/dp/B008LWR7AU/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1344966900&sr=1-1

which both have fun, sexy, food moments to start you on your journey of discovery.

A few ideas:

Cut pineapple into long slices. Discuss how your partner could use them, later – sliding one inside you and eating it from your body.
Toss sexy salad leaves in a viscous balsamic vinegar and oil dressing. You can use each other’s bodies as a platter. There is nothing sexier than your guy (or girl) feeding off your bare stomach.
Pour thick, rich yoghurt (use your favorite – mine’s vanilla). Make sure it’s not too sickly, you may be eating lots! Start in the kitchen, as you prepare, using sexy china (a bit unromantic to take the carton straight into the bedroom). Test it out by drizzling it over various (foreplay) body parts, then gradually progress towards more intimate contact with it, in the bedroom.

An alternative to the above is whipped cream, but limit how much you consume – we don’t want anyone feeling sick now! It’s a definite mood-killer. Has anyone ever licked whipped cream off your toes and feet before? Try it. You can be tied up if you’re just too ticklish to sit still!!!
Don’t underestimate chocolate but it comes with a note of caution. Too much is sickly AND messy.    A little melted into a pretty bowl to paint on and suck off is just about right. You could draw love-hearts on each other’s bodies with it. Or dip fruit chunks into it to feed each other.
Salty snacks work well too, in moderation. Just keep plenty of water handy – we don’t want anyone dehydrating. Lie your partner down on the bed/floor/sofa and sprinkle (a few!) snacks over their body. Now eat every one WITHOUT using your hands! Don’t forget to lick up all that saltiness too.
Try rolling a grape, strawberry or dripping chunk of melon from between your partner’s toes, up their entire body into their mouth, without using your hands!

Strips of cooked chicken or steak can be fun to feed each other. Don’t allow your partner to help themselves. Or let them command you to feed them, like a Middle-Eastern Sheik dominating a harem slave – you can build a whole fantasy around this experience, if you like the sound of it.

For anyone into BDSM play, the above games can add a new dimension to your fun and frolics.

Food is meant to be enjoyed, in oh so many ways. All it takes is a little imagination. So have fun! Come back and let us know your thoughts or (dare I suggest???) share your experiences.

Kristal x   

A HUGE thank you to Kristal for coming by today- time to book a babysitter for the evening I think…

Kay xx

Why not catch up with Kristal at her blog spot!

(All photography on show is from – freedigitalphotos.net:

Image: FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Photography Creators (in order of use:  Paul; Tom Clare; photostock, Salvatore Vuono; David Castillo Dominici; sailorr; Sommai; nixxphotograpy; Ambro; Ambro))

Room 54- Free Weekend on Amazon!!

Did you pick up Hidden Agenda and The Art of Submissive Survival,  Part 1 and 2 of The Perfect Submissive Trilogy? If so, here’s your chance to find out what happens next for free!

Part 3 – Room 54

Facing more painfully kinky challenges every day, Jess enters the final stages of her on-the-job training. Along with the artist, Sam Wheeler, who is now firmly under Mrs Peter’s control, Jess finds herself taking part in a competition to see if she is worthy of her position amongst the fifth floor staff. In the process, she and Sam will finally discover what has been hidden behind the locked door of Room 54. Jess will need to draw on everything she has learnt at the hands of Miss Sarah and Mrs Peters, if she is truly to become the perfect submissive…

Room 54 is free on 18th and 19th August on Amazon UK and Amazon.com

Praise for The Perfect Submissive-

“If you like to read ultra-kinky, smart erotica, then this book’s for you.” –Oysters & Chocolate

Readers, hold on… it’s a crazy ride. If you like your erotica dark and dirty, then this is the book for you. –The Romance Reviews

New BDSM Anthology! Tied to the Kitchen Sink

2012 has been an eventful year in the world of new publications for me so far. To be honest, I can’t quite believe how lucky I’ve been!

The Perfect Submissive is out in paperback, The Voyeur is out in e-book, and will be a paperback very soon (it already is in the US), and my next novel will be bursting onto the scene next month. (More details soon!)

On top of all that, I am delighted to have a gorgeous looking, new and shiny, solo e-anthology out!

Tied to the Kitchen Sink (All Romance, 2012) features three of my most popular BDSM and S&M style stories to date- Tied to the Kitchen Sink, Becky, and The Bad Poet.

Each tale has a pretty high heat rating in it’s own right- but I think it’s fair to say that the stories increase in ‘ouch’ and ‘ohhhh’ factor as you progress through the collection!

Will can hardly believe his eyes when he receives the ultimate in birthday gifts. Karen, the girl of his fantasies, has been left tied to his kitchen sinks’ taps, ready to be played with exactly as he chooses. Meanwhile, Becky is having a spank filled first day in her new job, and a BDSM curious male allows himself to be lured into a dominatrix’s layer, by the tempting lyrics of a truly bad poem. Whether bound in ropes or handcuffs, as they are shackled to the bed, kitchen sink, or within the confines of a fetishists supply cupboard, the willing victims of Tied to the Kitchen Sinks’ kinky S&M and BDSM action, find their darkest and sexiest dreams coming true.

Tied to the Kitchen Sink is available from All Romance Books, Amazon UK, Amazon.com , and all good e-book retailers.

Enjoy!! xx

An Extra Helping of Tasty Taster!!

As I am about to go off on my holidays, I thought I’d pop some extra erotica on my site for you to read in my absence- a late extra addition to my Tasty Tasters Two Weeks!

This blog is all about my best selling piece of work to date – A Sticky Situation. This is an erotic romance novella about a very clumsy young lady…

If there is a paving stone to trip over, or a drink to knock over, then Sally Briers will trip over it or spill it. Yet somehow Sally is the successful face of marketing for a major pharmaceutical company; much to the disbelief of her new boss, Cameron James.

Forced to work together on a week-long conference in an Oxford hotel, Sally is dreading spending so much time with arrogant new boy Cameron; whose presence somehow makes her even clumsier than usual.

Cameron on the other hand, just hopes that he’ll be able to stay professional, and keep his irrational desire to lick up all the accidentally split food and drink that is permanently to be found down Sally’s temptingly curvy body, all to himself.

It could be a very long week- unless Cameron can find a way of making Sally slop so much of her after show champagne, that he has no choice but to march her off and relieve her of her sodden clothing… He is sure that, if he could find a way to stop Sally resenting him taking her previous bosses job, then they could enjoy no end of sticky situations together…

A Sticky Situation is one of three novella’s from the beautifully velvet bound book, Hungarian Rhapsody, which forms part of Xcite’s Secret Library collection. Alongside my novella, you can find Hungarian Rhapsody by Justine Elyot and Restraint by Charlotte Stein.

All of The Secret Library’s stories have been released as individual e-books, and it is in this format that A Sticky Situation has done so well for me- reaching as high as number 5 in the Amazon UK erotica chart, and number 12 in the general Amazon UK Kindle chart!!  I am here to tell you- that is a GOOD feeling!

I make no secret of the fact that the lead character in Sticky Situation, Sally Briers, is based on me and my non-stop clumsiness. She also has my rather dry and cynical outlook on life! In fact, if I hadn’t dropped toast and marmalade all down my front one morning while writing in my local cafe, the novella may never have been written in the first place.

Here’s Chapter One for you- consider this a gentle introduction to some very interesting (kinky but not BDSM) food, ice, and champagne sex- although I am not going to tell you who that sex might be between…

Chapter One

  ‘You have got to be joking!’

Carol couldn’t help but laugh at the look on her friend’s face. Sally’s features were a picture of distasteful disbelief.

‘Just my luck! Why does it have to be him? I thought Graham was coming to the Oxford conference with me. What the hell does Cameron bloody James know about marketing this stuff anyway?’

Pouring out a strong espresso, and forcing the small polystyrene cup between Sally’s irate fingers, Carol sat back at her desk, glancing around the open plan office as their fellow workers arrived to start the day at Zelcon Pharmaceuticals. ‘Apparently he has a background in marketing and science.’

Sally flinched as she burnt her lip on the steaming coffee, slopping a few drips down her front. Absentmindedly dabbing a tissue at the caffeine patch, she said, ‘I thought he’d come from some hot shot job in the city; all bank balances and bravado?’

Carol shrugged. ‘Before that he was a chemist. Worked at some big drug company in the States. I heard Graham telling his PA how good Cameron was at selling stuff, and that he was going to step aside for him.’

Sally’s groan was stifled by the plastic cup, ‘So I shouldn’t get my hopes up at Graham changing his mind then?’

‘There’s not a hope!’ Carol leant forward and switched on her computer screen.

‘But Cameron is such a … such a …’

‘Totally arrogant arse?’ Carol finished her sentence for her.

‘Exactly.’

Carol kept her eyes fixed on her monitor as she added, ‘A good looking arrogant arse though.’

Sally threw a pencil at her.     

Cameron James stared through the glass partition that separated his room from the main open plan set up. Four desks faced each other in two rows. The occupants of the seats, all women, hammered at their keyboards, while simultaneously answering the phone, sipping tea, chatting, and carrying pieces of paper from A to B, without any of them appearing to miss a thing. He had always envied a woman’s ability to multitask, and knew from the groups’ track record, that they were an excellent team; but he wasn’t about to tell them that. Not until they’d earned his respect, just as they had earned Graham’s.

His dark hazel eyes rested on Sally as she perched on her swivel chair, her expression a mask of concentration as it studied whatever was on her screen. Unless of course, she was simply concentrating on not falling off her chair? Graham had sworn to him that Sally was the best saleswoman they had, and yet Cameron doubted it. He had never met anyone so clumsy in his life. How could she possibly make a good impression for Zelcon, if she was dropping flyers and accidently spilling champagne every five minutes during the conference trade fairs?

Sally Briers just didn’t come across as the efficient sort; yet Graham knew his stuff, and if he was going to take over from him once Graham made his retirement public, then Cameron supposed he’d have to trust his judgement. It didn’t matter that he had secretly found himself imagining how good it might be to lap up anything Sally spilt on her short curvy body. That was just fantasy stuff. This was business, and there would be staff adjustments once his boss had stepped aside, especially if she let him down next week.

Turning his attention back to the list of things that needed doing by Friday, Cameron realised he’d have to have a meeting with Sally soon, just to make sure she knew he was in charge, and how he liked things done. At least, Cameron thought to himself as he scrolled his cursor across the page, she’s pretty. Perhaps she uses that smile and her figure to win over the punters? Somehow her chest, although not huge, was always “there”, hovering on the edge of his consciousness. Probably, Cameron thought, because it’s always got crumbs or printer ink or something smeared across it!

Cameron shook his head. Anyone looking at Sally would see the day’s new stains on her jacket lapels before they noticed her wide emerald eyes and the cute little crinkles that formed at the side of her lips when she grinned. He felt his crotch stir as he thought about her, and then quickly dispelled the image he was creating in his mind. He really would have to caution her to take more care once she was out in the world being part of the face of Zelcon.

He was well aware Sally didn’t like him much. No one did. He had walked into the company and got promoted above them all in a matter of six months. Cameron had deliberately kept his distance from most of the office staff. His career plan didn’t involve getting caught up in gossipy water-cooler moments. Anyway, if he and Sally were going away to work together, Cameron knew he couldn’t let his self-control slip and accidently reveal that he thought her physically attractive. Getting the brush off from a junior member of staff who thought him an arrogant bighead would be too embarrassing; and she’d probably tell Carol, and then the whole office would know. Ignoring the stiffening of his shaft as his imagination was reluctantly called into check, Cameron returned to his work.

‘You appear to have something on your cheek?’

Sally hastily scrubbed at the blob of cream that had oozed out of her “Friday Afternoon Treat” doughnut, her cheeks flushing. Every time she met Cameron James she seemed to be covered in something or other. Why does he always have to turn up whenever I’m having one of my uncoordinated moments?

‘You asked to see me?’ She spoke haughtily, already on the defensive.

‘Just double checking that you were sorted for Wednesday? Posters all ready for the stand, flyers delivered, pens and other giveaways all in place?’

‘Of course. I did it all last week, I did tell you.’ Sally was aware she sounded blunt, if not rude, something she would never have done with Graham. He had always double checked everything as well, but somehow he hadn’t made her feel like a naughty schoolgirl who’d been skiving behind the bike sheds instead of working, just because she’d had her usual once a week 10-minute-teabreak away from her desk.

‘Well, good.’ Cameron folded his arms and sat on the edge of his desk, ‘I hope you’ll manage to help me market our new line without half your dinner on your clothes.’

‘I’m not that clumsy!’

‘Really?’ Cameron couldn’t help let a small smile escape through his eyes, but the rest of his expression remained frozen as he went on, ‘Graham tells me you’re the best at this; at enchanting the delegates into investing in Zelcon, but I fail to see how the best can also be so messy. I don’t think I have even seen you without some sort of substance across you somewhere. I hope you won’t let me down.’

He hadn’t meant to say it like that. He had intended to calmly ask her to be a bit more careful as so much rested on this promotion; not just for the company, but for him, as it was his first conference for them. Sally’s crimson face, as she carefully chose her response confirmed for Cameron, that he’d pitched his concerns in completely the wrong way.

‘I have never let this company down. I would certainly never let Graham down.’ Sally almost hissed her reply, emphasising her real boss’s name as she lifted her small rounded chin, pointing it at Cameron as if challenging him. ‘Was there anything else, or can I get on with my job so I can make sure we have train and hotel tickets?’

‘Oh …’ Cameron stood up, turning his back on her briefly as he returned to his desk, ‘Didn’t Graham tell you? I shall need my hotel room booked, but I’m driving up, so no train tickets for me. I’ll meet you there. Best get on then. See you in Oxford, Miss Briers.’

Sally managed to resist slamming his door behind her as she stalked out and thumped back onto her chair.

‘All right?’ Carol grinned knowingly.

‘You might have told me I was covered in cream cake!’

‘Sorry sweetie, I didn’t notice.’ Carol lifted her eyes from her monitor to scrutinise her friend’s appearance, ‘there’s a bit on your left boob as well.’

Sally peered at the mess and sighed. Why am I like this? Ripping a tissue from the box on her desk she rubbed the synthetic white cream into her grey shirt, wondering if Cameron had noticed that as well. He probably had, no wonder he’d had that arrogant glint in his eyes when he stared at her. ‘Three whole days with Mr Perfect; what have I done to deserve this?’

‘You never know …’ Carol’s eyes twinkled mischievously. ‘… You might just have fun together.’

Sally rolled her eyes and started to detract the email request for two sets of train tickets, ‘He’s a womanising, arrogant, too-smooth-to-be-true, upstart.’

‘That’s office gossip; you don’t know if any of that is really true. He might have hidden depths.’

Tired of Carol’s lifelong mission to see her living happily ever after, rather than bouncing from one failed relationship to another, Sally’s tone firmly closed the subject, ‘Not a hope.’

Cameron sat on his chair; his eyes straying from his work to Sally and back again. He wasn’t entirely sure how he hadn’t pulled her forward and licked the spilt cake off her chest. He closed his eyes; this was going to have to stop. He wasn’t even sure he liked the woman. They’d never managed a civil conversation. She was so damn spiky whenever he was around. If they were going to be in each other’s company for a whole week, he was going to have to cut the fantasies he kept having about her right out.

Just as well he’d followed his gut instinct and decided to travel separately; the second she ordered a cup of tea from the train’s buffet car, he’d probably have got it slopped all over his crotch.

Buy links- A Sticky Situation is available as an e-book from Xcite, Amazon, and all good e-retailers. It is also available within the velvet covered Hungarian Rhapsody paperback from Xcite, Amazon, and all good book retailers.

I hope you enjoyed that- see you in 12 days!!!

Kxx

 

 

Rag Doll by Mathew Klickstein- A Review

I had been warned that Rag Doll by Mathew Klickstein (OCPress, 2012) was not a book for the faint hearted. Being a purveyor of pretty full-on BDSM sex stories myself, I am not that easy to shock, but even as I read the prologue of Rag Doll I have to admit to a sense of unease- and yet, deep curiosity. When one of the first sentences reads, ‘She needed to understand that sex with him would only hurt her emotionally and physically,’ a natural wariness is bound to follow.

Blurb

One transformative evening, sociopathic loner Oliver Maxwell discovers an unconscious street-girl lying in an alleyway. Inspired by his amorphous sense of right and wrong, he decides to take the sleeping rag-doll back to his apartment where he intends to nurse her back to life. Overcome with an insubordinate erection, Oliver must do everything he can to distract himself from taking advantage of the helpless girl. This overwhelming lust leads Oliver on increasingly depraved erotic adventures with numerous women, each one more perverse than he. Will the sender of the cryptic text messages ( I know what ur doing ) or his nosy neighbor lead to his ultimate undoing?  

At no point does the author try to endear the reader to Oliver- which is both clever and sensible, for there really is nothing to like about him. Trying to justify his warped view on the world would have been a mistake. Instead we are merely asked to accept him for who he is- and once the reader has done that, then Rag Doll becomes compelling- although at no point does it lose its uncomfortable edge.

Rag Doll could be a story about how a messed up bloke gets through the days, or about how he wrestles with his troubled conscience. Ultimately however, it is the story of how Oliver stops himself from having sex with a in a coma girl he has found at the side of the road, and taken home to care (which he does in a series of gentle, yet intimate ways), by having lots of sex with other woman- most of whom are troubled themselves.

Rag Doll is not an easy read by any means. Not only is the vocabulary used often a touch pretentious and rather complex, it is not arousing in the conventional mould of erotica- yet I can’t imagine that Mathew Klickstein would ever wish to be considered conventional! What Rag Doll is however, is addictive. As you read, you have a feeling you shouldn’t be moving from episode to episode with such speed or eagerness; and yet you are driven to see what on earth Oliver will do next, and what will happen to the unconscious rag of a girl, limp and barely alive in his bath.

So- did I like Rag Doll? To be honest, I am still not sure. I do know I didn’t not like it!

Am I glad I read it? Definitely. Oddly appealing and bizarrely imaginative- Rag Doll opens a window onto a world which I hope I never have to understand.

Give it a try- It will surprise, unsettle, and intrigue you. Here’s an extract to give you a little taster.

To set the scene- Oliver has escaped from his home and the unconscious girl for a while…

He’d forgotten where he’d parked his car.

Searching, he realized he hated himself. He hated what he’d become. How discombobulated he’d been lately. Even before the drug-addled previous night.

He couldn’t focus, read, concentrate. Could it have been because of the girl? Was he making her worse and was she returning the favor? Had she been destroying him the way he had been destroying her?

He ruminated over this while keeping his eyes on his dirty white sneakers stepping over the grainy, gritty, pebbly dirt path upon which he walked on the side of the creek. It was night now, hours later, hours on the road, to the lake up in the mountains.

Far away from her.

The black babbling creek to his right. The crescent moon glowing above him in the velvet-black sky salted by tiny, twinkling white stars. Just enough moonlight to see the path, icy hands in the pockets of his orange mackinaw. Cold breath streaming from his chapped lips.

The black lake ahead. The endless abyss of thick, dark forest to his left, trimming the path upon which he listlessly trekked. The running water of the creek to his right.

It was a magnificent evening. The kind he preferred. His car lost behind him for the time being, Oliver wondered if he was really destroying the girl back home. He didn’t understand her.

What was he doing being so presumptuous as to name her butt mole? (He did love her ass.) How dare he, though. He deserved a slap that she wasn’t even capable of giving him. She might as well have been dead, he thought.

He’d been all but defiling her moribund body as though she had been some reclaimed toy he’d pilfered from the junkyard. Who was she? Feeling like a ghost, he wondered who Oliver Maxwell was, anyway. He didn’t know.

He wondered if she knew.

He didn’t even know her name. Maybe it wasn’t his fucking business.

His hands tensing up, plunging deeper into the alpaca-fur lining of his mackinaw pockets, colder now for sure. The steam threaded out from his mouth more quickly and in longer, curling trails into the crescent-moon-lit sky that hung above him.

A rustle in the void of the forest to the left of him. He turned his head, indolent. There was no one. Perhaps a raccoon. No one goes out at night to a lake like this.

He was fucking nuts, that’s what he was. And all the wild shenanigans of late, proof of his sick insanity. He needed help, but from whom? No medical insurance. The folks at the club wouldn’t have coughed up the dough even if he had gotten AIDS or cancer, or god-knows-what.

He continued onward toward the lake ahead, hearing the crunching gravel of the dirt path under his dirty white sneakers. A veneer of stringy, gray clouds nearly covered the bright crescent in the perfectly black sky.

He sniffed the ardent pine smell that chilled the back of his throat. He knew he loved her and there was nothing he could do about that. The night was so tranquil. Oliver felt a phantom vibration in his pants, remembered at once that he had left his cell phone back home so as not to be bothered by those private number text messages. “I know what you’re doing.”

But what was he doing? The girl back home, he had to admit, was not only skinnier, but was turning downright peaked. Her skin had changed from tortilla-chip Indian princess to that of an anemic goth girl.

Then again, this he preferred. Perhaps she would, too? Maybe she wasn’t turning sickly, only more milky fresh?

He slipped on a round rock beneath his shoe and caught himself before falling forward. The glaucous moon above him emerged from behind the gray, stringy clouds. His hands loosened up in his mackinaw pocket. He sniffed the pine scent again, which for the moment assuaged his anxieties.

The cold was refreshing, revitalizing. The nature. He needed this. The lake, the creek. The forest. The sky. The pebbly pathway upon which he perambulated. He felt so much better. He thought of how much he had been helping her, “feeding” her with the IV, cleaning her, handling her feminine whatnots.

Resisting the mad temptation of doing far more to her than he had. The yoga stretches he’d learned about online that he had done with her to keep her muscles from fatiguing. Ignoring the pop-up tantra ads that came along with the site, even.

He was helping her, god damn it! Oliver Maxwell, committed nurse.

His eyes involuntarily shifted from his stepping sneakers to the onyx lake, which opened up before him, stretching out its welcoming arms on either side and widening into vacant infinity. It was a mirror of the ether weighing down on him as a velvet tarp sparkling with white, blurry stars.

Oliver felt satisfied, relieved. To see the lake and, beneath his rubber soles, the beige and gray-colored pebbly beach shore that led up to these gently rippling waters. He’d made it. In the night and in the cold. No one else could have, but he did.

It reminded him of the long, meditative road trips he’d taken with his father (long divorced from mummy, of course) as a pubescent boy. The long-ago days of being a kid, of spending as much time in his father’s car and in the various roadside motels as anything else they did on their truncated summer sojourns.

After late lunches or early dinners, the sun just setting, Oliver would leave his bare-chested, bare-backed bear of a father in his holey gray sweatpants, lying back on the motel bed, watching TV perhaps.

Oliver would go explore wherever they were and oftentimes end up on a similar walking path he had just now traversed, leading to a selfsame lake or river. Then, as with now, he would wonder if he was the only person to have ever ventured all the way along the path.

When he was younger in those barefoot daisy days, he would be optimistic at first. A red-blooded American teenage male, there was the fantasy forever in his head that maybe he’d discover some “lost” girl who too had found reprieve from her parents at a hidden treasure spot such as this.

Awaiting his arrival through some form of providential kismet. Finding her. What took him so long? There he was! There she was! Both so bright in the effulgent West Coast setting sun…

… But she was not there waiting for him. There never was any girl waiting for him with anticipatory beaming smile, having located the same clandestine spot as he in splendid synchronicity. He would be alone then, as alone now.

No single shred of evidence that another human being had traipsed through those lakeside shores. Nor this one here upon which he was meandering with morose resignation.

He craned his neck upward and saw the crescent bright moon, thought of how even on the lunar surface, one could find proof of human life having crossed its potholed plane. But, here, the wind had washed away any such evidence…if there’d ever been any to begin with.

“Hey.”

He stopped short, crackling the pebbles underneath his shoes.

“Hey,” he couldn’t help but repeat, spying the girl who he’d been waiting for on trips immemorial, journeys to identical places up and down the national coasts.

She was small, which is why he hadn’t noticed her before. She wore vintage 1950s librarian glasses and had evenly cropped, shoulder-length auburn hair that gave off a special red radiance in the moonlight reflecting off of the obsidian lake’s soothingly rippling water.

There was a tiny, glittery-blue butterfly barrette (no, a horsefly) on the right side of her priggish schoolgirl hair. She wore a denim jacket— what a friend of his would refer to as a “Canadian tuxedo”—a flash of Lily’s OshKosh B’Gosh’s. Underneath that, she wore a gray sweater whose hood poked out of the back of her denim collar. Both the sweater and the jacket could easily have belonged to her father, her brother, her…boyfriend.

No, Oliver reasoned. The jacket and sweater would have been too small—fitting tightly enough around the girl’s pocket-sized petite body—for any man. Contrarily, she wore black parachute pants that were so large that she was practically swimming in them…The same as she would be in the freezing lake, were he to impetuously toss her in.

The image flashing before his mind: Punishing her for breaking his solace, for arriving years too late. Damn her, where had she been? How different would his life have been if he’d found her at age fifteen? (The age of the girl back home, perhaps…No, stop…)

Maybe he would have ended up healthy, normal. A house, a family, a real job that paid him more money for something he could actually understand and to which he could actually contribute. A real person with a partner in life to keep him from being so woebegone, so hopelessly lost.

He saw her sitting at the waterline, her legs stretched out before her—she wore white tennis shoes similar to his own, much cleaner—and her head turned to him. Her lilting, sprightly voice still whispering in his head—“Hey”—and he knew at once that this would be the final distraction that he needed to keep him honest. Perhaps this magical sylph plucked from the innocence of his damaged nonage would be something far more powerful…

He sat down next to her on the cool, pebbly shore of the dark, limpid water.

They looked not at each other as they spoke, but only out into the lake leading off into the forever distant horizon irradiating at the farthest edge as though a great industrial city lay just beyond its impossible limits.

The girl hurled a pebble at the water, skipping it (or so he could only hear, not being able to see it, once launched from the grasp of her small, delicate, clear-fingernailed hand). She leaned back on her left elbow, still not turning her head to say to him in her soft feminine voice, “It’s nice here.”

“Yeah,” he said, sitting in a sloppy Indian-style, his cold hands delving deeply into his mackinaw pockets on either side of his waist.

“You from around here?” she asked, seemingly indifferent but making polite conversation.

“Not really,” he replied with matching diffidence. “I don’t live too far from here, but it was a bit of a ride. I needed to get away for a minute. Out of the loud city.”

And they sat.

Oliver felt himself stiffening up, his muscles tensing for some reason. He was uncomfortable, physically and emotionally. Something about this gal…

She pitched another skipping stone across the black-marble surface of the water.

“How…long have you been here?” he braved before immediately being cut off by her own inquiry of, “How old are you?”

He told her, and she revealed she was nearly the same age.

This might be it, he thought.

The girl back home was far too young—who was he kidding? Even beyond any legality—while here was this true-blue woman who was not merely a specter of his purest childhood fantasies come to haunt him. She was sitting next to him, his knee so close to her extended left thigh that he could almost feel the heat pulsing off from her…were it not so damn cold, were her crinkly black pants not so loose.

She could maybe become his.

He leaned back on his right elbow, mirroring her in style and comfort. He inhaled a deep, icy-chilled breath through his nose, slowly letting it out as misty steam through his shivery lips pursed as though he was about to whistle a silly tune.

“What?” she asked, turning to him, leaning toward him, repositioning herself atop her blue-denim elbow.

He remained as he had been, but twisted his head toward her gaze, her light-brown eyes through those dark-brown framed secretarial glasses. “What what?” he asked.

“It sounded like you were sighing just then. Is everything okay?” Her expression stayed flat and her nose was a button that he wanted to twist playfully. She blinked behind those glasses of hers.

“It’s been a long few weeks is all,” he rejoined.

“Good?” she asked, seemingly interested now. Perhaps even secretly fascinated, edging closer to him.

“I guess,” he said. “Definitely different, that’s for sure.”

“Different is good,” she said, smiling, revealing tiny Chiclet teeth that glimmered in the sidereal moonlight.

His eyebrows rose in plaintive perplexity. It was as though that new grin of hers—clearly born of a diabolical sensibility—ignited in him the awareness that…

“You ever try to drown someone before?”

She asked the question as though nothing had changed between them, as though this was part of her deadpan series of earlier queries. She turned back to the lake before them.

“What do you mean?” he asked, doing his best to remain calm despite the trembling from the cold and his growing anxiety. No, not her too?

She chucked another rock at the lake—this time much harder, as though attempting to break through the rippling surface—which smacked the water with a clattering splash.

“Not really drowning,” she revised. “I mean, like, you know. Sexually. Like a fetish thing.”

His heart raced. His hands were growing hot, and he pulled them out of the side pockets of his mackinaw. He straightened up where he sat, off of his elbow. His fingers and the palm of his clammy hands were met with the cold shock of the frigid air encysting him.

Nowhere near the shock, though, of what the girl was all but suggesting.

“I…I’ve never thought about it before,” he spluttered through chattering teeth.

“Oh, come on,” she taunted. “Never? You’ve never seen it in a movie or heard about it in a song or something?”

“Uh, no,” he stammered. “I usually stick with the classic stuff.”

“You wanna try it? With me? Right now?”

She lifted herself off of her elbow, turned to him with an expression that evinced child-like malice, like she knew she had done wrong and was awaiting her comeuppance. Her gimlet brown eyes widened with a frenzy that frightened him.

“Wait, wait, wait,” he said, scooting away from her without rising off of the gritty-gravelly ground.

“You don’t want to at least try it?” she stretched toward him, button-nose first.

His penis was, of course, growing erect. The rest of him was nevertheless fearful and, truthfully, a little disappointed. She would be only another distraction, no more everlasting than the grocery store women, and the polio girl. Specters living only in his mind.

This girl was not salvation. Only further torment.

Rag Doll is available from the OC Press and all good e-book retailers. If you’d like more information about Rag Doll and its author, then why not check out this blog.

Kxx