O.M. Grey's Blog, page 6

Time’s Running Out!

Today is the LAST DAY to order your author-signed copy to the long-awaited sequel (of sorts) to Avalon Revisited. AVALON REVAMPED will officially be released to the public on October 1st, 2013 both in Kindle and paperback versions (although, interestingly, they’re already available on Amazon.com). However, I’m only getting enough print copies to cover your preorders, so if you don’t have your order in by 11:59 PST on September 30th–THAT’S TONIGHT–you won’t be getting your copy in the mail later this month.

About Avalon Revamped:

Arthur Tudor, a vampire for nearly four-hundred years, finds himself bored with life and love, yet again. His tolerance for his newly-turned girlfriend Avalon wanes, and he’s on the prowl for fresh blood to drink and succulent flesh to pierce. While investigating a series of mysterious disappearances, the couple comes face to face with Constance, a succubus committed to exacting justice for violated women. The supernatural trio joins forces to stop a serial rapist and murderer. Set in Victorian London, this Steampunk horror novel is about justice, retribution, and redemption.

Let true justice prevail…

Here is what C. L. Stegall, author of The Blood of Others, has to say about Avalon Revamped:

Every once in a while I get the opportunity to read a piece of work that makes me think, “This is the one the will put this author on the map of the reading world.” Avalon Revamped is that book for O. M. Grey. It deals with some horrific truths and should be read by every person on the planet. It is a great adventure, with serious underpinnings that elevate it into a higher realm of genre literature.

Remember, the only author-signed copies available will be from these pre-orders, or if you see me at an event. For those of you who follow my work, you’ll know I didn’t do a single event in 2013. I do have one scheduled for 2014 at AnomalyCon in Denver, but my personal appearances will likely be few and far between.

Still haven’t read Avalon Revisited? It’s high time! It not only won the Steampunk Chronicles’ Readers’ Choice Award in 2012 for best novel, it also was an Amazon Gothic Romance best seller! You can get your copy from Riverdale Ave Books, on Amazon.com, or on a variety of eBook formats. Or, if you prefer to listen to your books, there’s an audio version of Avalon Revisited available via AudioRealms.

Still not convinced? Read what others have said about my scribblings.

Find my other works for purchase, and even some for free, and view my complete works all on the pages of this blog.

Explore! Comment! Buy!

And, above all, share on your networks and with your friends.

May you all find peace.

-_Q

p.s. If you see an ad below, I did not put it there nor do I welcome it. It’s a new WordPress policy. One has to pay WordPress to disable these ads, so please ignore them.

Filed under: News & Reviews, Steampunk Spotlight Tagged: arthur tudor, audio realms, audiobook, author, avalon, avalon revamped, avalon revisited, bdsm, book, broken heart, c. l. stegall, convention, horror, justice, london, love, misogyny, mystery, o.m. grey, olivia grey, paranormal romance, passion, rape, rapist, redemption, retribution, riverdale ave books, sex, sexual assault, steampunk, succubus, the blood of others, vampires, victorian

Avalon Revamped Countdown!

The countdown continues! You only have FOUR MORE DAYS to order your author-signed copy to the long-awaited sequel (of sorts) to Avalon Revisited. AVALON REVAMPED will be released to the public on October 1st, 2013 both in Kindle and paperback versions. However, I’m only getting enough print copies to cover your preorders, so if you don’t have your order in by 11:59 PST on September 30th, you won’t be getting your copy in the mail shortly thereafter.

About Avalon Revamped:

Arthur Tudor, a vampire for nearly four-hundred years, finds himself bored with life and love, yet again. His tolerance for his newly-turned girlfriend Avalon wanes, and he’s on the prowl for fresh blood to drink and succulent flesh to pierce. While investigating a series of mysterious disappearances, the couple comes face to face with Constance, a succubus committed to exacting justice for violated women. The supernatural trio joins forces to stop a serial rapist and murderer. Set in Victorian London, this Steampunk horror novel is about justice, retribution, and redemption.

Let true justice prevail…

Here is what C. L. Stegall, author of The Blood of Others, has to say about Avalon Revamped:

Every once in a while I get the opportunity to read a piece of work that makes me think, “This is the one the will put this author on the map of the reading world.” Avalon Revamped is that book for O. M. Grey. It deals with some horrific truths and should be read by every person on the planet. It is a great adventure, with serious underpinnings that elevate it into a higher realm of genre literature.

How about them apples?

Remember, the only author-signed copies available will be from these pre-orders, or if you see me at an event. For those of you who follow my work, you’ll know I didn’t do a single event in 2013. I do have one scheduled for 2014 at AnomalyCon in Denver, but my personal appearances will likely be few and far between.

The deadline to pre-order your author-signed copy of Avalon Revamped is September 30 and 11:59pm PST. If we don’t have your order by then, the only way to get your book signed is to meet me in person. The book will be available via Amazon.com and electronically on the Kindle at first, with expanding distribution in the future.

Still haven’t read Avalon Revisited? It’s high time! It not only won the Steampunk Chronicles’ Readers’ Choice Award in 2012 for best novel, it also was an Amazon Gothic Romance best seller! You can get your copy from Riverdale Ave Books, on Amazon.com, or on a variety of eBook formats. Or, if you prefer to listen to your books, there’s an audio version of Avalon Revisited available via AudioRealms.

Still not convinced? Read what others have said about my scribblings.

Find my other works for purchase, and even some for free, and view my complete works all on the pages of this blog.

Explore! Comment! Buy!

And, above all, share on your networks and with your friends.

May you all find peace.

-_Q

p.s. If you see an ad below, I did not put it there nor do I welcome it. It’s a new WordPress policy. One has to pay WordPress to disable these ads, so please ignore them.

Filed under: News & Reviews, Steampunk Spotlight Tagged: arthur tudor, audio realms, audiobook, author, avalon, avalon revamped, avalon revisited, bdsm, book, broken heart, c. l. stegall, convention, horror, justice, london, love, misogyny, mystery, o.m. grey, olivia grey, paranormal romance, passion, rape, rapist, redemption, retribution, riverdale ave books, sex, sexual assault, steampunk, succubus, the blood of others, vampires, victorian

Steampunk Spotlight: Avalon Revamped Cover Unveiled

Here it is. The beautiful cover to the long-awaited sequel (of sorts) to Avalon Revisited. The countdown to its release continues! Fourteen short days before AVALON REVAMPED is released to the public on October 1st, 2013.

About Avalon Revamped:

Arthur Tudor, a vampire for nearly four-hundred years, finds himself bored with life and love, yet again. His tolerance for his newly-turned girlfriend Avalon wanes, and he’s on the prowl for fresh blood to drink and succulent flesh to pierce. While investigating a series of mysterious disappearances, the couple comes face to face with Constance, a succubus committed to exacting justice for violated women. The supernatural trio joins forces to stop a serial rapist and murderer. Set in Victorian London, this Steampunk horror novel is about justice, retribution, and redemption.

Let true justice prevail…

Pre-order your very own author-signed copy today! In fact, the only author-signed copies available will be from these pre-orders, or if you see me at an event. For those of you who follow my work, you’ll know I didn’t do a single event in 2013. I do have one scheduled for 2014 at AnomalyCon in Denver, but my personal appearances will likely be few and far between.

The deadline to pre-order your author-signed copy of Avalon Revamped is September 30 and 11:59pm PST. If we don’t have your order by then, the only way to get your book signed is to meet me in person. The book will be available via Amazon.com and electronically on the Kindle at first, with expanding distribution in the future.

Still haven’t read Avalon Revisited? It’s high time! It not only won the Steampunk Chronicles’ Readers’ Choice Award in 2012 for best novel, it also was an Amazon Gothic Romance best seller! You can get your copy from Riverdale Ave Books, on Amazon.com, or on a variety of eBook formats. Or, if you prefer to listen to your books, there’s an audio version of Avalon Revisited available via AudioRealms.

Still not convinced? Read what others have said about my scribblings.

Find my other works for purchase, and even some for free, and view my complete works all on the pages of this blog.

Explore! Comment! Buy!

And, above all, share on your networks and with your friends.

May you all find peace.

-_Q

p.s. If you see an ad below, I did not put it there nor do I welcome it. It’s a new WordPress policy. One has to pay WordPress to disable these ads, so please ignore them.

Filed under: News & Reviews, Steampunk Spotlight Tagged: arthur tudor, audio realms, audiobook, author, avalon, avalon revamped, avalon revisited, bdsm, book, broken heart, convention, horror, justice, london, love, misogyny, mystery, o.m. grey, olivia grey, paranormal romance, passion, rape, rapist, redemption, retribution, riverdale ave books, sex, sexual assault, steampunk, succubus, vampires, victorian

Steampunk Spotlight: “Railroaded”

Late last week, Sirens Call Publications released their latest anthology He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not, in which my Steampunk Erotic Short Story “Railroaded” appears.

You can get your very own copy of He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not from Amazon in print or Kindle version, as well as from Smashwords in a variety of eBook formats.

About He Love Me, He Loves Me Not:

All little girls, and some little boys, know the game ‘He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not’. Each one who plays hopes to end on the ‘He Loves Me’ petal. But how many of us really find that perfect mate? That one partner who will love us unconditionally for the rest of our lives? How many of us really live the dream, and how many live through the heartbreak of ending on the ‘He Loves Me Not’ petal? ‘He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not’ is an anthology of ten stories told from ten different perspectives on love and romance. Some have happy endings, while others end in tears, on a note of desperation, or even a new beginning. A few of the stories are fantasies come true, some steamy encounters of wanton lust, and others still are tales of woe – but the one thing they all have in common – they answer the age old question; does he love me, or does he not?

Get your copy today!

Filed under: News & Reviews, Short Fiction & Poetry, Steampunk Spotlight Tagged: amazon, author, erotica, love, o.m. grey, olivia grey, railroaded, sex, short story, sirens call, sirens call publications, steampunk, victorian

Gothic Goodies on STEAMED!

I’m still in London. It’s awesome. So awesome, little else matters. I’ve visited so many historical places and walked from one end of this incredible city to the other more times than I can count in the past month. I’m still here for another two weeks. Thus, I’ve been very lax about updating this blog, The Order of the White Feather, or keeping up with my guest post commitment over at STEAMED! I have managed to work on my forthcoming novel The Ghosts of Southwark (sequel to The Zombies of Mesmer), get a few reblogged articles up on OWF, and finally get a blog published at STEAMED (only a month late). Head over to STEAMED! to read a post on Gothic Goodies: Piling Up the Dead. Here’s an excerpt:

Gothic London, its varied history, and just getting to and from places has kept me so busy and exhausted over the past month that I’ve shirked my duties as guest blogger for STEAMED. My apologies. Even now as I write this, I’m on a bus to the train station to see the editor of Gearhearts Steampunk Glamour Revue, Patricia H Ash-Vilodosa. Unlike most places in the USA (and even many in the UK), traveling in London can be an all-day affair. If I’m out of the flat (and not indulging in a frothy mocha at a Starbucks), I’m either on a bus, on the tube, or walking up to 10 miles a day exploring this glorious city. I’ve even hired a Barclay Bicycle and tooled around a bit. Great fun. It’s not unusual that I get totally lost walking from here to there, even with my Mini A to Z, discovering many wondrous things along the way. Things, of course, that I would unlikely ever be able to find again.

I highly recommend going on guided walks in London on your visit, but not through London Walks. Although they have a varied menu of walks, it’s really hit or miss with the guide and crowd. It’s not unusual for them to have 50-100 people on a walk, and then it’s a big mess. You can’t hear the guide and your constantly moving with a huge crowd. Not fun. For you Gothic Ghost Story fans, I can’t recommend the walks hosted by Richard Jones enough. He came highly recommended to me by my writerly colleague Leanna Renee Hieber. Richard has written something like twenty-three books on haunted London. Leanna used some of his ghosts in her fabulous Strangely Beautiful series.

Last week I had the great pleasure of meeting Richard and talking about publishing and marketing with him between the stops on the Sweeney Todd Haunted Walking Tour, which I thoroughly enjoyed. His dramatic presentation of ghost stories and history is fabulously entertaining. On his walk, I learned that many of the churchyards throughout London are higher than the rest of the city. This is because in the early 19th century, they were quite literally burying people on top of one another. The gravediggers would dig up a grave, move the existing bones out of the way, wait until after the current mourners were done saying their goodbyes, and then they’d slip the bones back in the new grave.

Read more over at STEAMED! and find out what “fishing” is…it’s not what you think.

Enjoying a mocha on the South Bank right in front of The Globe Theatre

May you find peace. xo

Filed under: Lost in the Aether Tagged: author, avalon revisited, brompton cemetery, england, ghost tours, ghosts, gothic, gothic romance, graveyards, history, leanna renee hieber, london, london walks, o.m. grey, olivia grey, richard jones, sweeney todd, the ghosts of southwark, victorian

Steampunk Spotlight: Discovering Aberration

The following is a guest post by S.C. Barrus:

-_Q

“What on earth is he doing?” I asked, curious and horrified at once. “Has he gone mad?”

I peered back through the spyglass and watched only for a moment before I recoiled in horror. Hands hooked like the claws of a raptor, he burrowed them into the flesh of his arms.

In a world where discoveries are the quickest road to fame, fortune and prestige, things quickly go awry for Freddy and Lumpen. A violent army of gangs, mercenaries, scuttlers, scarlets and worst of all, archaeologists catch wind of the discovery, and are determined to stop at nothing to make it their own.

The Story…

Discovering Aberration is a full-length adventure novel following Freddy Fitzgerald, a well known Victorian era travel writer. When his friend, archaeologist Thaddeus Lumpen, presents “the discovery of a lifetime”, an ancient map of a long lost civilization, Freddy knows this is the next story he’s been looking for.

Drawing inspiration from classic adventure/sci-fi ala Jules Verne and Robert Louis Stevenson, Discovering Aberration adds thrilling twists, back stabbing turns, a taught sense of peril, and a dash of steampunk to concoct this adventure.

When Freddy and Lumpen reach a mysterious island, they quickly find that the violent gangs on their tail aren’t their greatest danger. Something has warped the island over hundreds of years, and one by one it sends each of them into fits of madness.

What makes it stand out from the pack of steampunk novels?

Where most steampunk novels are littered with devices and inventions of all sorts, the world of Discovering Aberration is a world of mounting progress where complex steampunk technology isn’t yet established. Instead, Discovering Aberration uses the steampunk setting as a license to break from reality while maintaining the feel of classic adventure and sci-fi. The overall feeling captures the essence of a dark Jules Verne novel.

Why should you back Discovering Aberration?

Editing is an essential step in preparing a novel for publication. If my unpolished story were a piece of coal, editing would be the pressure that turns it into a diamond. Where editing polishes the meat of the story, design presents it in such a way that a reader feels compelled to read the first page. These two elements are specialized skills, one which even the most talented of writers cannot do on their own. For this reason we are building a team of professionals to whose combined skills can create a work of art. And your support will make this possible.

In return, you’ll receive a beautifully designed copy of Discovering Aberration before it’s released to the general public, as well as exclusive behind the scenes insights into the production process and access to the beta read. In short, you’ll become a very real part of the Discovering Aberration team, directly affecting the future of this novel in a tangible way.

Who is S.C. Barrus?

I’m a writer who’s been working the last two and a half years building the world of this project. I’m passionate about classic adventure literature, especially the works of Verne, Robert Louis Stevenson and Jonathan Swift, which served as major inspiration for Discovering Aberration.

After majoring in creative writing at the University of Washington, I went on to publish short stories and essays in Bricolage Magazine, Manila Envelope, and more, including my self published short story Midway Between Heaven and Hell</em>.

Literature isn’t my only passion, I love nerdy things like cartoons, video games and Kung Fu movies. In my spare time I love hanging out with my wife and 9 month old son, and try to squeeze in some hiking, rock climbing, muay thai, and boxing when the rare free moment arises.

Clocking in at just over 220,000 words (roughly 400 pages), Discovering Aberration is currently seeking adventures like you to visit our Kickstarter project to pledge your support and fund professional editing and design.

Filed under: Uncategorized

Poem: Then, I Cry

TW: rape, sexuality, sexualized violence, PTSD

This poem was written over eight months ago, coming up to the year anniversary of the rapes by The Rapist, aka Austin Poly Rapist or The Auctioneer.  I’m happy to say that entire days go by now without even a thought straying to The Rapist, especially here in London where I know I’m safe from him.

I don’t cry anymore, not over this, but I wrote this at a time that I still cried several times a week, although no longer every day. About a week after I wrote this, my husband was in a near-fatal accident. About two weeks after I wrote this, I came home to find my dog nearly dead because I trusted the wrong person, again. Those two traumatic events set me back a bit, but about a month after I wrote this poem, the year anniversary of the rapes, and it seemed I turned a corner in my healing.

Today I’m in London, enjoying the rain, and working on the second novel I’ve written this year.

Regardless, I wanted to share this with you.

-_Q

“Then, I Cry”

I keep thinking it’s over.

I’m happy again, for a few minutes or hours or even days, but then it returns. The underlying sadness that’s always there, just below the surface, comes up for air once again.

Then, I cry.

I look at cartoon drawings of sexual positions, and I cry.

I read yet another site about how to recover from rape, and I cry.

I masturbate, desperate to feel normal arousal again, and I orgasm.

Then, I cry.

He stays with me, even though he’s gone. He’s been gone for so long.

Was he ever here?

I’m reminded of how he said he loved me and adored me. Is this love? Is this how he worships his lover? How he expresses his adoration? By raping? By punishing? By sexualized aggression in anger?

And afterward, I was no longer loved or adored, although he said both, just moments after the rape. But, then, I asked him to say it. I asked him if he loved me, hoping to hear that he did. Hoping it would prove he didn’t do what he had just done, and he said he loved me. He said he not only loved me that he absolutely adored me.

The next day began the devalue and discard. Condescending cruelty.

I was no longer loved or adored.

I was an annoyance.

I was clingy.

I was bothersome.

I was tainted.

Dirty.

And I’d never be clean again.

I’ll never be clean again.

I’ll never be okay again.

I’ll never trust again.

I’ll never feel desire again.

Without feeling damaged.

Without feeling ashamed.

Without remembering the fantasy.

That fucking fantasy he used to drug me

Into believing he loved me

Into believing he adored me.

He must have a different definition of love than I do.

The affection and overtures of love during that fantasy time still assault my mind.

Because that’s what he did.

Assaulted my mind.

Assaulted my body.

Assaulted my heart.

Assaulted my soul.

Memories assault me still, wanting to believe it was a mistake.

Somehow.

That he was just scared.

Somehow.

That it would be okay.

Somehow.

If we just talked.

Then, I cry.

Eight months. He’s had eight months to talk to me.

He hasn’t.

No contact.

Except to exert further control.

Except to punish me more.

Except to intimidate.

Except to threaten.

Except to shame.

Except to show the complete and total lack of love.

I get it.

Just when I think it’s over, it returns.

Then, I cry, again.

Then, I idealize death, again.

I just want it to stop. Again.

That which brought me such joy has been ripped from me

My soul, too, ripped from me

A gaping hole remains

Then, I cry.

I return to the web, reading unending posts and articles and accounts

of Rape. of Abuse. of Cruelty. of Monsters. of Recovery.

Looking for answers

Anything to understand

Anything to heal

Anything to get through another few minutes

Another second

Another moment

Anything to function again.

I will.

I know, because just two days ago I wrote

Just two days ago I laughed

Just two days ago I danced.

Just two days ago I sang. Loudly. To myself.

Always to myself.

Terrified of being alone

Unable to be with anyone

Trapped

Searching for understanding

Then I find it in another survivor.

She gets it

Then, I cry.

I feel validated and so not-alone

But it passes

Just as quickly as his love did

Then, I’m afraid again

Then, I cry

Again.

Just one ounce of human kindness

Just one sentiment of sorrow or pain

Just one piece of evidence that he is

Genuine

Even a little bit

But nothing.

Any word from him contains more cruelty

More callousness

More evidence that he is as empty as I feel

Because he consumed my soul

And it burned up in his inner void

If I only had the words to make him understand

If I only had a way to forget

If I only had the self-respect to hate him

If I only had the courage to let go

If I only could forget

If I only could forget

If I only could forget

But I will never forget.

I am forever changed

Although not forever shattered

Not forever broken

I’m so much better already

But still not whole again

Will I ever be whole again

Or will I remain hole forever?

Not forever.

Just for now.

Takes time, of course.

Eight months for three.

Not even three.

Eight months is nothing

Just like I feel

Nothing.

Just like he means to me now

Nothing.

It will be over soon.

Soon, they say.

Until then, I cry.

Filed under: Short Fiction & Poetry Tagged: austin poly rapist, author, broken heart, healing, heartbroken, honesty, love, misogyny, non-monogamy, o.m. grey, olivia grey, poetry, rape, rape survivor, sex, sexual assault, shattered

Short Story: The Handy Man

My agent, the fabulous Louise Fury, says “The Handy Man” is the best short story I’ve written. I’ve read it aloud to fans and friends at conventions, and although they loved it, it hasn’t found a home in a publication, unfortunately. Honestly, I’m rather tired of submitting it after nearly two years. I don’t really do erotica anymore (many of you who follow this blog know why), so I thought I’d just put it out there for your reading pleasure. No sense in getting it in some erotic magazine or anthology when there will be no more erotica to follow.

There it is.

“The Handy Man” is a fun piece, I think. Much of my work is so dark, I really thought the lighter tone of this piece would make it more marketable. Again, so mistaken.

Imagine that.

This contains erotic adult situations.

I hope you enjoy it.

-_Q

His skilled fingers traced the edges of the small opening as his mind assessed the best tools to complete the task. The lady was becoming impatient. He could tell by the way her body tensed, but he liked to take his time and do things right. Kneeling on the fine burgundy rug and facing the job before him, Linus Cosgriff reached down into his black leather case with his one good hand and pulled out a rotary machine. Long brass extensions protruded from the end of it, and when he flipped the tiny black switch, they spun around in a most menacing manner, throwing out white and blue sparks.

“Oh my!” Mrs. Martin exclaimed. “You’re going to use that?”

“Yes, madam. It is the latest technique, of my own design.” Linus beamed with pride and looked up at Mrs. Martin as he clipped the machine on the brass cuff covering the stump where his right hand used to be. He had lost it in a factory accident years ago, causing him to find a new livelihood, one much more enjoyable, if he did say so himself.

“Are you certain, sir? It looks like it will cause some serious damage.”

“Not at all, madam. I am a professional. Not to worry.”

Linus slid the contraption carefully into the lady’s lock and toggled the black switch once again. The machine whirled to life and sparks rained down upon the brass wrist cuff and tumbled off the sides.

The lady gasped. Her lace-gloved hands covered her ears against the menacing sound of metal against metal. “Stop that awful racket! You’ll wake the entire neighborhood!”

“Almost in. Just…one…more…There!” The clanking and whirring stopped. He twisted the brass doorknob and pushed open the heavy oak door. “Ladies first.”

Mrs. Martin’s eyes shot down the darkened street in both directions before she strode past him. Her heels clacked against the floor as she disappeared into the darkness of the doctor’s office. The hiss of gas filled the silence, and the office lightened around her. She adjusted the brightness of the room with a small brass knob on the wall, then caught Linus watching her and put her hands on her slender hips, cocking her weight to one side.

Linus’s eyes followed her curves up to her lovely face, held at the moment in a very cross expression. Even in her annoyance, she was as beautiful as ever.

“It’s a sheer miracle no one heard that horrible sound, Mr. Cosgriff. What are you playing at? I hired you to be discreet, not to trumpet our presence.”

“Madam. I am the best locksmith in all of London. Well, the best locksmith who will take these side projects. I assure you, m’lady, you are in good hands.” Linus removed the contraption from his brass-covered stump with a twist and click, then swapped it out for a wooden hand covered in a black leather glove. “You said you know where the good doctor keeps it?”

“I do. In this cupboard here.”

The lady moved as silk slid off a marble tabletop, sensual and smooth.

Linus inched closer to her, a little too close for the lady’s taste, for she took a step back. He twisted the latch on the cupboard’s door. “It’s locked.”

“But of course it’s locked, Mr. Cosgriff.”

“And you are most certain it is in there?”

“Quite certain. Is there a problem?”

“Not at all, Mrs. Martin. Not at all.”

“Could we possibly do it without so much noise this time?”

“Of course, dear lady.” Linus set his black bag on the cherry desk in the middle of the room, trying to mask the annoyance in his voice and the impatience on his face. He took a deep breath and twisted the end of his waxed mustache with his good hand. A sense of calm overcame him after another three full breaths. That is until the lady commenced tapping her foot in the most annoying manner on the hardwood floor.

He would not allow her to get to him, not again. No, he would unnerve her this time.

“Agnes, have you had the chance to test the doctor’s tool?” The innuendo was not lost on this fine woman and it caught her off guard, as did the familiar use of her given name.

“How lewd!”

“Yes, well. I suppose it can be viewed as lewd, but if memory serves, you always were a bit on the naughty side, Agnes. Rather uninhibited, as I recall.”

“Sir! You are no gentleman!”

“That’s quite true, madam. And you are no lady. We both know that all too well. Still, you haven’t answered my question.” Linus hid the wide grin on his face by turning away as he once again replaced his wooden hand with another locksmith tool, this one hand-propelled to avoid ‘the racket’ to which the lady had such an aversion. Quite similar to the last, this one had a series of interlocking gears at the base of a hand crank– his prototype before he developed the electric one. One could’ve used the common tools, of course, but…how very dull, indeed.

Linus turned back to the lady, ensuring his face appeared properly stoic. “How have you been feeling, Agnes? You do seem rather tense. Perhaps a little anxious as well? I would be willing to help you relieve some of your hysterical symptoms, dear lady.”

“Sir! We are standing in my husband’s office!”

“Yes. The man who made a fool of you with that other woman. Remember? That’s what this is about, isn’t it? Revenge. You steal his prize invention before he has a chance to patent it. The very thing that has made him the most popular doctor among all the London ladies. It is my payment, after all, the technology therein. Is it not? The patent of such a tool would provide quite the income and prestige. Isn’t that right, Mrs. Martin? Certainly I should be able to test it out, ensure it works as you say it does. Don’t you think?”

Blush rose into Agnes’s cheeks, and Linus couldn’t tell if excitement, embarrassment, or anger colored her flesh, and he really didn’t care. He just reveled in the fact that he was getting to her.

She opened her fan and began waving it quite rapidly, but she did not say a word. Rather, she stepped back and turned away.

Amused, Linus knelt down in front of the cupboard and pulled the magnification goggles he had taken from his case down over his eyes and positioned the 3x loop over the right lens to look closer at the lock. It was indeed a complicated one, very new and secure. Yet the confidence in his skill did not waver, and before long, he had worked the lock open.

There before him, the machine sat on the top shelf. It certainly was more portable than Taylor’s hysteria table, and it ran on steam. Long tubes, curled in their resting state, must carry the pressurized steam to the mechanics of the thing. How very interesting. Linus could not wait to dissect it and modify an even more portable version.

He’d be rich.

“Well?” the lady’s voice interrupted Linus’s dreams of a fine flat in Kensington with women lined up around the block to be pleasured by him and his new invention.

“Yes, my dear. This will do quite well. Quite well, indeed.”

“It’s getting late, and we should really be on our way.” Mrs. Martin shifted her weight from foot to foot, making her dress sway in a most alluring way. She wrung her hands, crumpling the lace and straitening it again. Her eyes darted to the window, then back to Linus, then back to the window again.

Linus took the machine from its shelf and shut the cupboard door. The sound of the interior latch catching made Mrs. Martin start.

“Please, Mr. Cosgriff. Let us leave now.”

“Dim the lights.”

“I beg your pardon!”

“Dim the lights, Agnes.” He spoke with a soft and gentle tone. After setting the machine next to his bag on the doctor’s desk, he moved closer to Agnes, who tried to sink into the wall behind her, eyes wide with wonder or fear. Linus couldn’t tell, and he didn’t care.

“Now see here!” she said with a voice cracked in nervousness.

“You’ve been having the restless nights, haven’t you Agnes? The fear? Nervous agitation? Remember how I used to help you with that? Let me relieve you again, just this once. I can test the machine and you can get a much needed release, not to mention a bit of personal revenge on your lying, cheating bastard of a husband.”

“Ex-husband. At least soon-to-be.”

“Even better.”

Linus brushed his cheek against hers then lowered the gas, dimming the lights until the room held a soft amber glow.

“Just lie back, and let me please you. Just for tonight. Let me love you, just for tonight.”

The lady didn’t say a word but allowed Linus to lead her to the table, and before she knew it, her feet were in the stirrups, the window shade drawn, and her skirts over her knees. He switched on the steam. The vibrating sound mixed with the hiss of steam filled the otherwise silent early morning, and an aching heaviness spread between her legs. Her husband had tried it on her, only once, and it had been unlike anything she had ever experienced. Just the sound of the thing made her flush and breathe faster. The memory, of the pleasure, of the release, still so strong.

Linus held the iron oblong vibrating machine in his good hand and supported it with the reattached wooden one. Two long rubber tubes ran from it to the source of steam. The force and intensity of the vibration tickled Linus’s hand such a degree that he nearly dropped the iron phallus. He pressed it in the perfect spot between Agnes’s legs, and she jumped, exclaiming, “Oooooh!”

“Is the pressure all right?”

“Oh, yes. Yes!”

Agnes clutched the sides of the doctor’s table with lace-gloved hands and pressed herself against the vibrating machine. “Oh! Yes! Oh, Linus!”

Rippling waves of pleasure emanated from where the vibrator touched her, up her torso, and were released in rhythmic moans from her parted lips. “Oh, my. Oh my God. Yes! Oh!”

Linus shut off the machine and turned from her in the most frigid way. “Well, that seems to work quite well. Thank you, Agnes for your assistance in the demonstration.”

Agnes bolted into a seated position, feet still in the stirrups, hair slightly mussed.

“What?”

“I said ‘Thank You’ for your assistance.”

“That’s it? You’re stopping?”

“Of course. It is clearly functional, so my work here is done.”

“Your work is not done, Linus. Your work has just begun.” Agnes’s voice became softer and more sultry as she continued. She raised her skirts higher until its bottom lace rested on her hips. With a fluid motion, she pulled her bloomers over her hips and down past her knees. “Get back over here, Linus.”

“Madam, I do not want to overheat the machine.”

She slipped one foot out of the undergarment and then the other, all while her smoldering eyes stayed locked with his. “Then don’t use the blasted machine.”

As much as Linus wanted to leave this lady hanging the way she had left him all those years ago, alone and unsatisfied–a broken man–he yearned for his own release. He yearned for a new connection with her. He went back, and as soon as he was within reach, she grabbed his neck and pulled him between her stirrupped legs, kissing him with a passion he had not felt in too long. Her hands worked to unfasten his trousers, but the taste of her tongue on his made him hungry to taste her further. The scent of her ripe and wet nethers wafted up to his waiting nostrils and further weakened his resolve.

The lady protested as he pulled away. With a coy look and a sly finger over his lips, he said, “Shhhh” and began to descend.

The lady covered her eyes, but not her big smile, and lay back down on the table.

Linus breathed in her musky scent and, if it was possible, more blood rushed downward. He pulled his trousers over his hips and stroked himself as he tasted her. Agnes squirmed and arched her back and moaned so much that Linus had to abandon his own pleasure to hold the lady still long enough to bring her to climax. Wrapping his arms around her bent thighs, he held her bottom still and pressed it against his mouth, letting his tongue find further delight. The lady’s entire body tensed up and she screamed out, drenching Linus’s waxed mustache and chin.

She leaned forward, grappling at Linus’s shoulders and urged him up to kiss her again. She covered his mouth with her own and licked her tangy sweetness off his lips, circling the full of them with her tongue.

With a purposeful push, Linus slid inside, reveling in the sensation of being surrounded by her. There is nothing quite like being inside another person, a feeling incomparable to anything else, both sensual and spiritual at the same time. That moment of entry, when two become one and the knowledge of that shining in the other’s eyes.

In that moment, Linus realized he loved her still.

He had never stopped loving her, not even after all these years, and now fate had brought them together again.

They moved together with increasing passion until they both climaxed, and he fell against her, spent.

She stroked his hair as he lay against her.

“I’ve missed this,” she said.

He looked up at her and hope filled his heart.

“Truly? So have I! It is like I have come home again.”

He lifted her up against him and kissed her again. Then, with their foreheads resting against each other, gazing into the other’s eyes, they waited until their breaths slowed, never letting go of their embrace until they heard the chimes of the early morning.

“We must get moving! It will be dawn soon,” the lady said.

“Just a few minutes more. Let me look at you one last time.” He took her face in his hands and memorized every curve of her face, but it would not be the last. With her divorce, surely he would see her again. Perhaps their love would be rekindled and he would no longer spend the long nights alone.

“There will be time for this later, my love. Now we must go.” Agnes pushed Linus away. He pulled up his trousers while she straightened her skirts. As he put the grey braces back over his shoulders, she picked up the vibrating machine and regarded it with some wonder. “What will you call it?”

“I was thinking–” but a blinding pain cut Linus’s words short as the lady smashed the iron contraption against the side of his head. He crumpled to the floor, and all went black.

“Let me love you just for tonight,” Agnes scoffed. “Indeed!” She wrapped the machines in her shawl, tucked it under her arm, and headed out into the London night.

When Linus awoke and found the lady gone, a mixture of rage and anxiety overcame him. How could he have been so foolish? Again? Since her, he had not loved another, and now he remembered why. His pain reminded him why. She took the tool. She betrayed him. Again.

It was past dawn, and he had broken into a renowned doctor’s office. The sounds of city life brewing outside reminded him he had but minutes to escape without being caught. He grabbed his black satchel and looked back at the doctor’s table, where he had loved her just a short while ago, with some regret.

“Bah! Regret is for fools, and perhaps I am a fool, but no more. No sir, no bloody more!”

———–

For the next week, the newspapers had reported on the scandal of not only the most prominent doctor being burgled, but also of how his scorned wife had filed to patent “The Vibrator,” as she so unoriginally called it. Word about town gossiped how she started working and living with an eccentric inventor to create a more portable model to sell directly to women.

Scandalous, indeed.

Linus did not miss this opportunity, though. Even with this new betrayal and too much Scotch to remember how much Scotch, he worked. So, he couldn’t patent that machine, there were still variations of it he could patent and manufacture, not to mention offer a private service to women.

No love.

Never love again.

Just release.

Scotch and release.

And money.

And revenge.

And maybe more Scotch.

———–

“Will it hurt?” The young blonde woman clasped her hands tightly to her breast. Wide blue eyes brimming with tears regarded Agnes in fear.

“Quite the contrary, my dear. Trust me, not in the least.”

“What’s it like? I mean–I don’t know what I mean. I’m just rather scared. It looks dangerous.”

“My dear, I assure you there is nothing dangerous about this. It will make you feel new and wondrous things. Now just lay back on the bed, and I’ll show you.”

“How does it work?” The young lady stood at the edge of the bed, tense, looking around at everything in the room but at Agnes holding the large egg-shaped contraption in her gloved hands. “I mean. Does it…does it go inside? Oh my, how lewd! I cannot believe I just asked such a question!”

Agnes chuckled to herself as Mina covered her blushing cheeks with tiny white gloved hands. Her pink lips glistened in the gaslight, and golden ringlets trembled along the back of her neck as tears of embarrassment filled her eyes.

How young and innocent this one was. A virgin, no doubt.

Placing the vibrator on the bed, Agnes walked over to Mina and put a tender hand on her shivering shoulder. “There, there, my dear.”

Mina pressed her face Agnes’s breast and grasped her around the waist, weeping into the black lace that allowed just the faintest hint of Agnes’s pale flesh to peek through.

Agnes stepped back from the girl and lifted Mina’s chin until her red-rimmed eyes met her own. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. All right? We can stop whenever you like. This is just in the interest of science, remember. There is no shame in this. There is no shame in pleasure or in the joys of the flesh.”

With this last, Mina wept anew and turned away from Agnes again.

“Dear girl! Listen to me closely. You are a maid, yes?”

“Of course!” Mina spun on the spot, angry at the question.

“Yes, of course. You have not yet known a man, and you likely have been told all sorts of nonsense around the subject. But, my dear, there is nothing to fear. Men are fools, for the most part, and when you learn the ways of pleasing them, they are putty in your hands. Wouldn’t you like those skills? You are betrothed, are you not?”

“I am, to a fine gentleman, and I am quite sure he will be appalled I even considered this! I shall not tell him. In fact, I must bid you a good day, madam.”

Mina started towards the door, but Agnes stepped in between the girl and her escape.

“Excuse me, madam. I do wish to leave.”

“Just a few more minutes, dear girl. Then, if you still want to leave, I shall not get in your way. All right?”

“All right. Just a few minutes.”

“Of course. There are two things you must learn about men. First, they are scoundrels. Second, their egos are terribly fragile. If they feel as if they are not pleasing you, if you cannot be fulfilling to them in the bedroom dear, they will seek out other means. Through the use of this device, you can not only relieve yourself of hysteria symptoms, but you can also learn how to let go and be the wife your husband will want between the sheets. You do want to please your husband, dear, do you not?”

“Well, yes. But–”

“This is the best way without taking on other lovers. Learn what your body can do, and your husband will be very pleased, indeed. He will not stray, and you, in keeping him satisfied, shall want for nothing.”

Mina remained quiet for a moment, contemplating Agnes’s words. “Are you sure it won’t hurt?”

“My dear,” Agnes said, tracing her hand down Mina’s rosy cheek. “It will most certainly not hurt. It will be the most wonderful feeling you have ever felt.”

“And I don’t have to tell my betrothed?”

“You need not tell a soul. Just come sit on the edge of the bed, and I will show you. You need not remove anything, just lift your skirts and lie back, as modest as you like. Relax and let me show you.”

Mina did as Agnes asked, keeping on all her clothes. She grasped her hands together and rested them on her stomach. Her wide and unblinking eyes stared at the ceiling.

Agnes guided Mina’s feet flat against the mattress then lifted Mina’s skirts over the top of her knees, allowing the layers of material and lace to rest on her hips, exposing the white bloomers beneath. A pale blue ribbon cinched the ruffle just below each knee: a perfect match to her dress. White stockings covered Mina’s calves and slippered feet. Agnes eased Mina’s legs apart and had to suppress a giggle when Mina’s whimper broke the silence of the room.

“It is fine, dear. We are both women here. No need to be embarrassed or frightened. All right?”

“Yes. All right.”

“Just breathe and relax. Focus on your breath and think about a nice walk in the park with your betrothed. Take your mind away to some place soothing.”

As Mina’s breath slowed, Agnes inserted the brass key into a small hole on the side of the large metal egg and began to turn the key, winding the clockwork machinations hidden within the egg’s belly. When the key became hard to turn, she stopped so as not to lock the inner gears, and placed the key back in a small pouch hanging from her wrist. With a flip of a small switch on the bottom of the egg, which kept the gears from moving, the vibrator sprang into life, tickling Agnes’s hand.

Mina started, eyes popping open.

“Just relax. Deep breaths,” Agnes reminded. “Close your eyes. That’s it.” Just after Mina’s eyes were closed again, Agnes slipped the egg between Mina’s legs and placed it gently against her most tender area.

“Ooooh!” Mina exclaimed. Her eyes were once again open and wide, but this time in wonder, not fear. A smile spread across her face. “Oh my. Oh my, yes!”

“Is the pressure all right dear?”

“Oh! Oh! Oh yes! The pressure is–harder, just a little bit harder–oh, God, yes! Yes! Yes!”

Mina’s hands flew from the proper place on her waist and fiercely grasped the bedding surrounding her. She arched her hips up, making it difficult for Agnes to keep the egg against her, and before she knew it, Mina had taken the vibrating egg out of Agnes’s hand and held it against herself, writhing in ecstasy across Agnes’s bed.

Pleased at the success of the portable model, as well as the enjoyment it gave her young client, Agnes started to feel her blood rush down past her stomach, making her nethers heavy and throbbing. She chanced touching Mina whilst in her throes of ecstasy, running a gloved hand up the side of Mina’s waist and fondling her nipple beneath her pale blue dress. Much to Agnes’s surprise, Mina did not protest, but rather cried out, heralding her pleasure, and turned towards Agnes with invitation in her eyes. Agnes closed the distance and tasted Mina’s lips, gliding her tongue along the bottom one before covering Mina’s mouth with her own, kissing her deeply.

Mina dropped the vibrating egg and embraced Agnes, pressing their bodies together and devouring each other’s fervent gasps until Agnes went limp in her arms.

“It’s about time.” Mina wiped the remaining sedative off her lips after dropping Agnes onto the floral bedspread.  “You don’t know how many times I nearly licked my lips. That was not easy. Linus? Are you there?” Mina tapped the cameo pin at her throat a few times. “You can come in now.”

The chamber door opened, and Linus entered as he lowered a black horn attached with curly wires to a box he wore strapped to his chest.

“Did it work? Could you really hear me?” Mina said, almost giddy.

“Yes. Of course, my dear. Just as we tested it back at the lab. I had no doubt it would work in the field.”

“So you…heard everything?” Mina smiled slyly and sidled up to Linus.

“Every. Single. Moan, my darling.”

“I want you right here, right now.”

“Although that would indeed be lovely, dear, I am a sensible man. That sedative won’t last nearly as long as I will. Just collect the prototype and let’s get out of here. I shall take full advantage of your desire once we get home, my love.”

———–

“Your three o’clock is here, Linus. Shall I show her in?” Mina asked as she opened the door. “What’s the matter?”

Linus sat back in the comfy arm chair, rubbing his eyes. A oblong brass vibrator, rippled with bulbous ridges, protruded from the brass cuff on his other arm. Brass rings clamped from wrist to shoulder held its steam-producing mechanism in place. Although rather bulky sitting on his right shoulder and extending down his arm, the machine enabled him to power his tools without being tethered to anything, giving him freedom of movement, which was often necessary in his line of work.

Without looking up at her, he said, “Give me five minutes to rest, Mina. Honestly. I am not a machine.”

“No, love, but you use them quite well.”

“Who is it?”

“Mrs. Riley.”

“Ah. Yes. The reciprocating one. That’s right. Five minutes please. And do collect payment first this time. She nearly forgot in her afterglow after the last.”

Mina nodded and closed the door.

Linus walked over to the wash basin. Holding his right hand’s extension just above the water, he sponged the brass phallus off with soapy water before using the prepared towel to dry it. He shuffled like an old man as he walked back to the dresser. Overworked, Linus dreamed of a few days off where he could just tinker in his shop, creating something new and wondrous.

Business was quite good. Perhaps he would hire an assistant. That would give him some free time.

With a half-counterclockwise turn, he unlocked the device, removed it, and placed it on the lace runner next to five others, each one different in style, width, length, and purpose.  He had patented and produced not only the portable vibrator, which he called the Incredible Golden Egg. Women across London, now able to satisfy themselves at home, had made him quite a rich man, but his aspirations did not stop there. He had set himself up as the premiere hysteria relief specialist in all of England. After developing several new devices with his earnings, ones only he could use since they attached to the end of his right arm, word spread far and wide how he, Linus Cosgriff, could take women to new heights of pleasure with his “helping hands,” earning him the moniker The Handy Man.

Mrs. Riley had a weekly appointment with Linus, and she did ever so enjoy the reciprocating tool. He picked up this masterpiece, the most inspired of all his inventions. Most ladies had not yet reached the capacity to handle such intense pleasure, but with his help, they soon would. Locking it into place, he took out his handkerchief and polished the mushroom brass tip of the larger shaft then attached the tube from the steam-power source before releasing the inner mechanics. The long, thick larger shaft began to undulate up and down, up and down. A smaller, slightly curved shaft extended from the base. Its vibrating tip mere centimeters from the reciprocating apparatus. For inexperienced women, the sight of the thing gave them quite a fright, but those who had become accustomed to Linus’s skills of release found it to be quite delightful indeed.

Mina opened the door and showed the radient Mrs. Riley whose entire face lit up when she saw Linus standing there with his reciprocating hand in motion.

“Oh my,” she said. “I see you are quite ready for me, sir.”

Her sultry look and parted lips had quite the affect on Linus. She unbuttoned the front of her dress and let it slip off her shoulders. It landed in a burgundy puddle of fabric at her feet. She wore nothing but a corset beneath. No knickers. No stockings.

“Please, Mrs. Riley. Do lie down. Let’s get started, shall we?”

Linus found himself filled with renewed energy. Perhaps he did not need help in these matters after all. No, he could handle it all himself.

Exhausting work, no doubt, but someone had to do it, and it might as well be him.

-_Q

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed “The Handy Man.” You read it first! It hasn’t been published anywhere else.  Many other stories, articles, and poetry, however, are available in my collection Caught in the Cogs: An Eclectic Collection. Find more of my work, free and for purchase, here and here, as well as all my published works here.

I’ve begun to serialize my teen Steampunk romance The Zombies of Mesmer, and as soon as people start reading and commenting on it, I’ll continue. Find more of my work on this blog, in several publications, and on Amazon.

Filed under: Short Fiction & Poetry, Steampunk Spotlight Tagged: author, hysteria, o.m. grey, olivia grey, short fiction, short story, steampunk, the handy man

Home, Home Again

Quick post.

I’m in London, and it’s brilliant. Utterly.

I’m in final revisions for The Ghosts of Southwark, the sequel to The Zombies of Mesmer, with fresh inspiration as I walk along the streets of London. Today I’m visiting The London Dungeon with a friend. I haven’t been there in 15 years, and it’s quite different than it was back then. In a new location, too! Afterward, we’re taking a Jack the Ripper Walk. My first ever!

I’ve also started to plan the OMG London Tour for 2014, where we’ll stop at all the places I’ve mentioned in my stories and books, most of which take place in this city of my soul. Yesterday I visited Brompton Cemetery which played an important role in Avalon Revisited. I’ve also seen Arthur’s home; The Wellington, where Arthur and Avalon had their first date; Nick Stanton’s home in Bolton Gardens, which is important in the AR sequel (of sorts): Avalon Revamped, aka Sewn; and Southwark Cathedral, the central location in The Ghosts of Southwark.

Today I’ll be visiting Nickie Nick’s home and the site of Bedlam Hospital as it was situated in the late 19th c.

More to come!

Filed under: Lost in the Aether Tagged: avalon revisited, england, london, o.m. grey, olivia grey, southwark cathedral, steampunk, the ghosts of southwark, the zombies of mesmer, victorian

Short Story: Twenty Minutes

I wrote “Twenty Minutes” back in the summer of 2011, in the month after the event (& aftermath) that inspired not only this piece, but also “A Kiss in the Rain” and my most popular poem “New York Rain.” “Twenty Minutes” is a study in severe anxiety, similar to “Final Word,” but this one is pure horror. Much darker. It was written for the SNM Horror Mags call for stories with Obsession as the theme. It was the #2 story for the month, July 2011, and subsequently appeared in their anthology Bound By Blood IV: Scarlet Sunset.

Siren’s Call Publications also featured “Twenty Minutes” in their “2013 Women in Horror Month” issue (#7) of The Siren’s Call.

This story, as well as eleven other short stories, angsty poetry, and relationship essays can also be found in my collection Caught in the Cogs: An Eclectic Collection.

It contains erotic adult content.

I hope you enjoy it.

-_Q

Why hasn’t he written? It’s been over 24 hours, and a text message just takes a few moments. Isn’t he thinking about me? Just yesterday he said he loved me, well, almost said it. He said he feels a great deal of love for me. That’s the same thing. Right? Surely his feelings haven’t changed overnight. I mean how could they?

No matter what, I’m not writing first this time. Let him miss me. That’s what I’ll do. Absence. Heart fonder, and all that. Sure. That’s what I’ll do.

Still no text. At least I waited ten minutes this time. I’ll try for twenty now. What can I do for twenty minutes to pass the time? No. Not look at his picture. Not daydream about when we meet again. No! Not remember the night we shared. What else can I do for twenty minutes?

Checking email. Nothing.

Refresh. Nothing.

Refresh again. Is the Internet connected?

Visit Google Maps.

Yep. Connected.

Refresh.

Okay. Chill. Everything is okay. This is just your fear talking. Everything is okay. How could so much change after just a day? It hasn’t changed. Everything is just fine.

Nothing new on Twitter. Perhaps an innocuous DM, just to see if he’s okay.

No. No. No. No.

Okay. Focus. What can you do that doesn’t remind you of him? Shower! Yes! I’ll take a shower. That’ll kill at least ten minutes, right?

Gasp! New email. Damn, spam. Not from him. You never hear from him this time of the day. No. You don’t need a Xanax. You can do this. You just need to keep busy is all. 

It’s just been 28 hours. Nothing will have changed in that time. He’s still here with you, but he won’t be if you freak him out. Don’t scare him away. You know this is just your fucked up brain chemicals at work. It’s just the way it is.

Still no DM. I wonder what he’s doing. I hope he’s had a good day. Maybe he needs me! Maybe something’s happened. Maybe a DM from me would cheer him up.

Go for a walk, that’s what. I’ll just go for a walk then shower afterward. That’ll kill an hour, right? Then I can look again.

29 hours. Nothing. Perhaps he’s already seen how crazy I am, and he’s changed his mind. That’s just ridiculous. You’ve been very careful to keep it to yourself. Besides, it’s just like this at first, when everything is so new and uncertain. You have to find a way to gain confidence. He’s crazy about you. That’s obvious. You know how your brain works. It’s not your fault, but it’s not his responsibility to reassure you every twelve-fucking-hours either. He has a life. A job. He’s got things to do rather than just think of you all day.

It wouldn’t hurt to check his Twitter account. Right? Just a quick look.

He hasn’t tweeted since last night! See. He’s just busy is all. He’s not even on Twitter. Maybe his phone died.

This is insanity. Take a chill pill. Yeah, maybe a Xanax.

No! I don’t need a fucking pill to be okay. I’m fine. I can do this.

Fuck! Who the fuck is @MsSexyPants? This first time on Twitter today, and he’s talking to @MsSexyPants? What the Fuck? Although it is public, but how do I know he’s not DM’ing her, too? He might’ve been DM’ing her all day! He might’ve been fucking her all day! No. Her profile says she lives in Seattle and the tweet was harmless enough. Just a reply on a funny quote is all. After all, you talk to people all day on Twitter. Flirt, even.

There’s nothing to it.

Why doesn’t he write?

Oh! New DM!

Fucking Spam. Block. Report Spam.

Everything is fine. Yes. Maybe a Xanax. If you need it you need it. Don’t fuck this up this time. It’ll be okay. People just need more space than you do. They just need more time. Okay. Xanax.

36 hours. Nothing. At least I was able to get some work done. See? Xanax helps. It’s okay. If you need it, you need it. It’s getting late. If I don’t hear from him in the next hour, I won’t today. That’s okay. I’ll just go to bed early. Sleeping helps. Unconscious is good.

Oh! New DM! Don’t look. You know it’s not from him. Just don’t look and read or something. You can’t keep being so available. The less attention you pay to him, the more he’ll pay to you. Right?

So I looked. Sue me. It’s okay because it was from him!

“Thought of you all day. Drinks?”

He thought of me all day! See! Nothing to worry about. Should I reply right away? I don’t just want to be a booty call. He cares more than that, right? I’ll wait like twenty minutes, then reply. What can I do for twenty minutes?

Fuck it.

“Sure!”

“Pick you up in 20.”

Now I know what to do for twenty minutes! What should I wear? Oh! My hair is awful. What does he see in me?

*

“You look beautiful.”

“Thanks. You look great, too.” The butterflies are back. I should’ve eaten something. Oh! His lips are so soft, and his tongue. Mmmmm.

I press into him and the kiss deepens. He’s delicious, and I just can’t get enough.

“You know,” I whisper into his mouth, “We don’t have to go out at all.”

“Okay.”

I feel his lips pulled back into a smile as I kiss him again. Our tongues mingle and the heaviness between my legs is aching for him. Full, yet empty at the same time. His erection is pressed against my hip, and all I can think about is his cock. I need him inside me. Right. Fucking. Now.

My eager hand slides up his jeans and caresses the bulge beneath. He moans his pleasure, and I swallow the sound in another hungry kiss.

“You’re so fucking hot,” he says between kisses.

Now I smile. See? He’s into me, after all.

Our passion mounts, and we move as one away from the front door into the living room. He lowers me down on the couch, and he lays between my legs. His strong arms prop him up over me, and he grinds his erection into my hips as he kisses me; his tongue darting around in my mouth.

Driving me wild knowing that his cock will be doing the same thing before long.

In fact. I can’t wait. Pushing him off me and back onto the sofa, I reposition myself for tasting him. My hands unfasten his jeans and I chance a look up. The smile on his face tells me he knows exactly what I have in mind. I reach inside and grasp him, releasing him with one hand as the other pulls his jeans down over his hips. He helps free himself with eager hands.

Fully erect and gorgeous, I bend over and lick all around the tip while snugly grasping his shaft, and I hear his gasp. With my tongue still touching the velvety helmet I look up at him watching me, allowing him to get this picture full in his mind before continuing. My tongue traces down the length of him and then back up again, wetting him for my love. Hungry for him, I plunge my mouth down over his cock and touch the base with my lips, then slowly pull back, flicking my tongue back and forth along the underside of his shaft as do I.

He lets me devour him in this way until his excitement has him moving with me, urging me on. And this is precisely when I stop. I slide my jeans over my full hips, and he tugs my blouse over my head. He turns to face me, and pulling my bra aside, his mouth finds my nipples, teasing them with his tongue. Sucking. Swirling. Nibbling.

I unfasten my bra and let it fall to the side, allowing him full access to my breasts. He caresses one while pleasing the other with his mouth. His other hand slides up the inside of my leg. I can feel my juices drip onto my thigh just before his fingers begin massaging my clit. Sliding along my moistness, he rubs me until I come, soaking his hand with my orgasm. This seems to make him very happy, both my nectar and my screams of delight. He spreads my lips and eases a finger inside. Then two. Fingering me slowly, then picking up speed.

I hold onto his shoulders as he brings me again, but I want more. Stepping to the side, his fingers slip out of me, but I never stop touching him. Even this far is too far apart. I move closer to him and straddle him there on the couch, easing myself onto his engorged cock. So slowly. Watching the wonder on his face and the love in his eyes as we become one.

We move together slowly at first, never breaking eye contact. Kissing and watching each other and then kissing again, but soon the movement becomes more urgent. My pace quickens, and he thrusts into me, meeting my motion with his fervent hips. He puts his arm around my waist and lifts me up, turning me over onto my back. Never removing himself from me.

He pulls his knees up close to me and holds one of my legs up as he begins to thrust deeper and faster. Each push into me more determined than the last. Faster and faster. I grab a handful of the fluffy couch and scream in ecstasy, and he doesn’t relent. The sounds of my pleasure only heightening his as he plunges into me again and again and again, until he finally comes himself. And with his final force, he cries out as well.

Breathing heavy. Eyes amazed. Hands clutching.

He relaxes onto my breast, and I stroke his hair.

I can feel him still inside me, gradually shrinking.

Yet we are one.

“Wow,” he breathes.

“Yeah.”

“I mean. Wow.”

“Yeah. That was amazing.”

He pulls out of me and I feel empty without him there. Cold. I reach out to him, but he’s already relaxed against the back of the couch, catching his breath. He feels too far away and I want him back inside me.

Filling me.

Completing me.

He looks at his watch.

“Oh shit,” he says. “I can’t believe it’s already so late.”

So late? We were supposed to go for drinks? We wouldn’t have even been served yet. It’s only been like twenty fucking minutes. Or the other way around. What does he mean so late?

“Do you have to go?” I ask, already knowing what he’s going to say.

“Not yet, but soon.”

I swallow hard. He feels so far away. How can he be so far away after we had just been so close? How can he talk about leaving? I want to fall asleep in his arms. I want to feel secure beside him. I want to wake up beside him and fuck him again.

“Gotta beer?”

“Um.” I don’t really like beer, so I don’t keep any in the house. “Wine?”

“Sure.”

I get up and walk to the kitchen. My heart swells, thinking of the romantic evening we’ll have. If only it weren’t summer, I could light the fire. Talking. Laughing. Sharing. Drinking until our passion takes us over again. When I return with the bottle and two glasses, he’s already dressed.

He must’ve noticed the disappointment on my face.

“Everything okay?”

“Um. Of course. Wine?”

“Actually, I really should go.”

“Okay. It’s still rather early, no? We could still go out for that drink if you’d like.”

“Maybe tomorrow. I’ll call you.”

“Okay.” I set the glasses and bottle down on the side table and reach for my jeans.

“No,” he says, taking me into his arms. “I want to remember you just like this. Beautiful and naked. Thank you for tonight. This was just amazing. Tomorrow, okay? I’ll call you.”

“Okay.”

“You mean a lot to me. You know that, right?”

I smile and my heart swells again. “I do. And you. I –. I mean, you mean a lot to me, too.”

He kisses me then.

Softly.

Gently.

Then looks deep into me and smiles.

“Tomorrow.”

*

Why hasn’t he written? It’s been over twelve hours, and a text message just takes a few moments. Isn’t he thinking about me? Especially after last night! Such intimacy we shared. Don’t I mean anything to him?

Just twenty more minutes. What can I do for twenty minutes before I check Twitter again. Just one DM. It only takes a few moments. Aren’t I worth even a few seconds?

What the fuck can I do for twenty minutes?

Alex. Yes. I’ll talk to Alex! He always cheers me up. He’s always there for me. Just like a good friend should be.

*

“Alex? Do you have a minute? I want your opinion on something. See, there’s this guy. A new guy, and I really like him. And I think he really likes me too. I mean, he might even love me. The sex is great. Really fucking great, but he always leaves just right after. I mean, like almost every time. He’s not just using me for sex, right? He says that I mean a great deal to him and that he feels a lot of love for me, so it’s okay, right?”

“Please let me go,” Alex whimpers.

“Did you hear me? What do you think? Do you think he really loves me?”

“Please. I’ll do anything. I won’t tell anybody and I won’t leave you. Ever. I promise.”

“Yeah. That’s what Todd said, too. And I believed him, but then he left straight away. Much harder getting him back. How are you today, Todd?”

“Todd is dead you crazy bitch! Todd’s been dead for a week now!”

“That was rather mean. You think I’m a bitch? But, you said you cared, too. You said you’d never leave me, and then you did. I’m just making sure you keep your word is all. Making you a man of integrity.”

“Please…”

“Anyway. It’s been over twelve hours, and I haven’t gotten even a text message yet. But I’m not a guy, so I don’t get how you all think. You’re a guy, Alex. Do you think twelve hours is too long to wait after sharing such intimacy? I mean, he should want to spend every waking moment with me, right? That’s what love is. Don’t you think, Alex?”

-_Q

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed “Twenty Minutes.” It, along with many other stories, articles, and poetry, is available in my collection Caught in the Cogs: An Eclectic Collection.

I’ve begun to serialize my teen Steampunk romance The Zombies of Mesmer, and as soon as people start reading and commenting on it, I’ll continue. Find more of my work on this blog, in several publications, and on Amazon.

Filed under: Short Fiction & Poetry Tagged: anxiety, author, erotica, final word, love, new york rain, o.m. grey, obsession, olivia grey, panic, poet, romance, rusty nail, sex, short fiction, short story, snm horror, twenty minutes