Al Boudreau's Blog, page 3

"Fantasy in the Cage" ~the battle begins~

Leona, and AM…congratulations on writing two fantastic short stories. Best of luck to both of you.

This cage match is going to be an epic battle to the finish, ladies, and gentlemen. Please read the following pair of shorts then cast a vote for your favorite. The stories are shown without writer attribution to keep things as fair, and unbiased, as possible. The poll will be open until 6 PM on Wednesday, September 28th. At that time, a winner will be announced. The winner will be interviewed on this blog on Sunday, October 2nd.

I've included the prompt below, with the stories to follow. The poll is located at the end of the second story. Thank you in advance for reading and voting for your favorite.

 

~The Prompt~

For decades, Fairview Quarry had been a favorite spot for local high school students to congregate. This unseasonably warm October Friday inspired a dozen teens to skip school and party atop the lofty heights of the abandoned sites granite cliffs. Clad in swimsuits, the teen's employed their usual cajoling, as dares to jump off the quarry's highest point echoed across the murky surface of the water, nearly 90 feet below. Known as "Freebird," the spot had claimed the lives of three students in the past decade, the most recent fatality occurring just a year prior. Strangely, not a single body had ever been recovered, despite efforts by experienced search and rescue divers.

Now, the latest dead teen's best friend, Jamie Daigle, was contemplating taking the same plunge that had robbed him of his childhood companion.

"C'mon, Daigle, you chickenshit…jump!" said one of the truant teens.

Several taunts later, eleven faces peered over the precipice as Daigle plummeted, upright, and pencil-straight, toward the frigid surface.

Daigle fought the tendency to gasp as he broke the surface, the water temperature falling with every foot deeper he descended. He began to employ powerful strokes in an effort to return to the surface when a frightening realization struck; his body was being pulled deeper toward the submerged portion of the cliff face. He felt a burning sensation in his lungs, the need for fresh oxygen acute.

As panic began to take hold, Daigle felt a sharp scrape rake his spine, then felt his body rise to the surface. However, the surface he encountered was deep within a subterranean cave, a strange light emanating from just around the corner of the dank granite enclosure.

 

Bring The Light

He trod water for a few moments, dragging in lungfuls of air while he got his bearings. The cave was empty and there was no reason that he could see for the current that had pulled him in. He turned to dive for the exit, then looked back at the light. Had Todd ended up here too? What would he have done?

Jamie thought for a second before rolling his eyes and laughing. Todd would have checked out the light. And called Jamie a pussy for being so cautious.

Jamie swam for the side, reaching it in two strokes. He'd always been a strong swimmer, stronger than Todd. He still couldn't forgive himself for not going to the quarry that day. Maybe if he'd been there… He shook his head. Dwelling on the past wouldn't get him anywhere.

He pulled himself out, wincing as the scrape on his back complained, and listened as water sheeted off his body. He couldn't hear a thing apart from water lapping gently at rock, but the light remained steady. It was a strange colour, somewhere between blue and green, with some yellow thrown in. He moved forward.

The cave narrowed to a passageway that wound to the left and as he followed it, the light grew stronger, shimmering off the rock around him like so many emeralds and sapphires. The passage was high enough for him to stand and walk comfortably, to the point where he barely felt that he was underground. A gentle breeze caressed his skin, warm enough to dry him off without making him shiver. He moved faster, eager to see what lay ahead.

He rounded a corner and stopped in his tracks. The passageway widened out into a large cave, bigger than the one he'd found himself in when he surfaced. The air glittered as though filled with the dust of precious stones and in the centre hung a blazing light.

He stared at it, his eyes adjusting, and realised he wasn't mistaken. Or maybe he was hallucinating. The light really was hovering about five feet off the ground in the centre of the cave, on its own, with no support. He walked slowly around it, looking up and down, but could see no wires. As he reached the passage he had entered by he realised something else. The cave was otherwise empty and there were no other passages leading off it. Todd wasn't here.

His shoulders slumped. In the short time since he pulled himself out of the water, he'd managed to convince himself that Todd would be here, even if Jamie only found his body. He leant against the cave wall, looking at the light. It was a welcoming colour, not so fierce he couldn't look at it, and he straightened up and moved nearer. As he did so, he felt the warmth coming off it and reached out. The light played through his fingers as they moved, allowing beams to flicker across his chest and face.

He lowered his hand and backed away. His friends would be going nuts by now. Not that any of them were real friends, but still. He turned back to the passageway and almost ran straight into Todd.

"Dude, what's the rush?" Todd's smile was as easy as Jamie remembered and as Jamie ran his eyes over his friend, he could see no indication that this wasn't a real, live, flesh-and-blood human. He reached out quickly, before he lost his nerve, and poked Todd in the chest. "Dude!"

Jamie massaged his finger. Todd had always worked out, and he was definitely all there. Physically, anyway. Jamie took a step back and was brought up short by the warmth of the light behind him.

"What the hell's going on, man?" He snapped. Todd had never been one for practical jokes. "You've been gone a year! Where have you been? You weren't here when I got here, I'm not blind!"

"Dude, relax, everything's fine." Todd held up his hands, palms out. "No, I wasn't here when you got here. And I'm sorry I wasn't able to see you. I've been busy."

"Busy? For a dead person?" Jamie stepped sideways, away from the light and his friend. No, not his friend. This couldn't be his friend. It wasn't possible.

"Dude, I'm not dead. And anything is possible."

Jamie looked at Todd, or whatever it was, his mouth hanging open. Then he turned and ran for the passageway.

"Dude!"

Jamie ignored the familiar cry as he raced down the passageway, into the first cave and threw himself into the water. He pulled hard for the tunnel he could see opening up in front of him, desperate to get away from the light and the thing that looked like Todd and spoke like Todd and acted like Todd, but couldn't possibly be him.

He clawed at the water, but he couldn't seem to escape. He could feel his hands cupping around it and pulling him forward, but something was holding him back so that he couldn't enter the tunnel. His lungs burned as desperation overtook him and his vision was growing dark when something grabbed him and yanked him above the water before dumping him on the rock beside the pool.

He lay there, gasping and wheezing, and as he recognised Todd leaning over him, wet hair plastered to his skull and concern written across his face, Jamie started to cry.

"Why, man? You knew I needed you. My dad, my mom… You were the only real friend I had and you just left. How could you do it?" He wanted to reach up and punch his ex-best friend in the face, but he was too weak, like always. He could only lie there and let the tears burn down his face.

"Dude, I didn't choose to come in here. It pulls you in and you don't get a choice about that. But the rest of it, everything else, there's totally a choice. You choose!"

Jamie squinted up at him.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Todd laughed and pulled him to his feet.

"Come on, I'll tell you in the other cave."

Jamie dug his heels in.

"I don't want to go back in there."

Todd's face fell.

"Dude, it's… It's the only way. You can't get back out through the water. But –" He held his hands up again as Jamie backed away. "But you can choose where you go. You can go anywhere. Just not back through there."

He pointed into the water and Jamie frowned. Todd sighed and sat down on the floor.

"Fine, I'll tell you here."

***

Jamie approached the light. Just gotta have faith.

"That's right, dude, you just gotta have faith. Just think about where you want to go and why."

"You're sure it'll let me do this?"

Todd shrugged.

"Dude, hell if I know. It's a good idea and I would have tried it if I'd thought of it. You got a good reason and you won't be sticking around, so…" He shrugged again.

Jamie reached out his hand, holding in his mind a familiar image.

***

Saskia Daigle climbed onto Jamie's bed and sat on the edge, her feet swinging nearly a foot off the ground. Even a four year old could work out that something was wrong. Mom was crying instead of yelling, allowing Dad to hug her instead of hitting him. Saskia didn't think it would last, so she was in Jamie' room. The one place she was usually safe.

It was full dark now and she should have been in bed hours ago, but Mom and Dad weren't thinking about her. As long as she didn't turn on a light, they wouldn't know. Where was Jamie?

She stared at the floor. After a while she realised it wasn't so dark anymore and looked up to see a glow in the corner of the room. As she watched it grew, brightened, then faded, to reveal her big brother. She opened her mouth to scream a joyous greeting but he put his fingers to his lips and she simply slid off the bed and ran into his arms.

"Hey, Sass," he murmured as he stroked a hand over her hair.

"Hey, JJ," she responded quietly, burrowing her head into his stomach. He picked her up and carried her over to the bed.

"Where have you been?" she asked as he sat her next to him on the bed.

"Well, I can't tell you, Sass. But I can tell you two things, and you gotta listen hard. Can you do that for me?" He spoke quietly, so as not to alert their parents, and Saskia nodded." Okay then. First, I love you and I will always be looking out for you. You got that?" Another nod. "Second, Mrs. Dobson down the street makes the best chicken casserole and she's always got enough for one more. You got it? Repeat it back to me."

Saskia repeated what he'd said. Jamie only hoped that, as she got older, she'd realise that Mrs. Dobson always had spare beds, too, and knew exactly what was going on in the Daigle household.

"You going 'way?" Saskia asked and Jamie bit his lip before replying.

"Kinda. You won't see me," he said. "But I'll see you."

He got up and backed into the room, waved, blew her a kiss. She giggled and blew one back. Then he held her gaze until he could see her no more and the scene changed.

As things came into focus he saw an alleyway, dumpsters, buildings rising high around him, dim light coming from fifty feet away on a main road and Todd standing next to him. Between them and the road could be heard scuffling and cries for help.

"No, no, no! Please… Help! Help me!" The woman's voice was high, and the man's laughter ugly as he cut her cries off with a hand around her throat.

Ready, dude?

Jamie swallowed, nodded. It was going to take a while to get used to this telepathy stuff, let alone the rest of it.

Ready.

Jamie looked down at his hand. A small stone glittered briefly, somewhere between blue and green with a dash of yellow thrown in, before his fingers closed over it. They crept forward and Todd nodded to Jamie, who stepped forward and pressed the gem to the side of the man's head. Light exploded, painting the alleyway the colour of Caribbean for a fraction of a second before fading.

The man stiffened, then let go of the woman who didn't even look to see why before staggering towards the road, her one remaining high heel making her progress slow and ungainly. But it didn't matter. The man watched her go as though he'd never seen her before, then followed her slowly to the street. He turned right at the top of the alley, the opposite direction to the one the woman had taken.

"He really won't remember?" asked Jamie. For the moment, he was more comfortable with speech.

"Nope." Todd turned to face him. "Training complete. I'll be seeing you around."

"With this," Jamie held up the gem, "I can always find you, right?"

Todd grinned and it was so familiar, Jamie had to grin in response.

"You can find anyone, dude. That's the point."

They clasped hands, then hugged.

"Bring the light, dude."

"Bring the light." Jamie smiled as Todd faded, then tightened his grip on the gem. He closed his eyes. The instructions were clear, imprinted on his memory. This was his job now. And he would never tire, never age, never die. No one would ever hurt him again. He stretched and his smile widened. The scrape on his back had healed.

Someone in need, he thought. There's gotta be someone else around here who needs help.

There was.

 

Lost and found

Had he died? The light made him wonder for half a second before the frigid cold convinced him otherwise. He needed to get out of the water. Now. He headed to the light, hoping it led to a way out. Crawl stroking in the surprisingly deep water, he made it to the corner.

Stone steps led up to the cavern shelf. Weird. He painfully climbed the stairs. When he stood up, the light pierced his eyes angrily. It was like looking at the sun after being in the theatre for a matinee. He took a step back, but his cold feet refused to cooperate. He stumbled, slipped, and suddenly slid toward the light's source; a rock cutting a jagged tear down his left calf.

As he fell, he wondered if his friend had experienced this when he'd jumped. God, he missed Harry. He came to an abrupt stop when he hit his head hard, the impact throwing him back into the dirt.

"Damn it!" His voice echoed strangely, as if muffled by a pillow. He carefully opened his scrunched-up eyes. The light wasn't so bright now, but it surrounded him. He looked back the way he'd come but saw only light.

He stood up shakily. Despite his bloody calf and tingling feet, he started walking again, his teeth chattering. The echo made him think of every scary alien show he'd ever seen. He had to keep moving. No one would find him here. He had no wish to stay all night in a cave freezing, concussed and bleeding, not because of fear. No, not fear. He was tough. The taunts of chickenshit rang in his ears as if the kid stood next to him, mocking him. Why the hell had he let himself be led around by those assholes? He swore that when he got back, he'd do things the way his dad was constantly lecturing him to.

As he walked, the ground under his feet hurt less and shapes appeared within the light. Probably people at the quarry looking for him. A sigh of relief escaped him despite his attempt at being macho. Thankfully, they were too far away to hear it. He quickened his pace, his calf throbbing in protest. It would suck to be missed by the Search and Rescue people.

He stopped abruptly when this horse with no rider and wearing medieval armor appeared a foot away.

Then the sounds around him permeated his consciousness, the sight causing him to fear for his sanity and his safety. Great brutish men dressed in armor like something out of The Lord of the Rings were fighting each other. Shouts, grunts and expletives mingled, sounding like a loud soccer match gone bad.

He jumped back as a black horse and its ferocious rider bore down on him, a loud war cry on the man's lips. Jamie stood frozen in shock and fear, half convinced he had hypothermia and was hallucinating. But not wholly. It felt too real.

"James! What in the name of the king are you doing here? And dressed like a crazy man?" The man said as he stayed his sword.

"I don't know?" he answered, confused. How the hell did this man know his name?

"Father will kill you, if you don't die here. Ryan, Peter!" He yelled at two men close by. "Take my brother home. Protect him with your lives."

"Yes, my lord, Aaron," they said, immediately pulling Jamie between them.

Aaron smacked Jamie across the mouth. "If I had more time, I'd horsewhip you. Putting your life in danger. And now I have to send two of my best men back to the keep."

Another horse bore down, the man's sword slashing toward Jamie. He ducked and backed up at the same time and fell down in the churned up dirt and mud. For the first time, he realized he wasn't the only one wet. It was raining. He heard the snicker of the man who helped him up.

Aaron and one of his protectors fought the attacker off, running the fighter through the stomach with his sword. The blood gushed out and the grisly bearded man fell off his horse. Rolling when he hit the ground, he stopped at Jamie's feet.

Jamie nearly fell again as the man's face came into view. It looked like an older version of the friend he'd lost. "Harry?"

The man opened his eyes, looking around. "Jamie?" the man asked.

"But, you can't be you. I lost you last year!"

"It's been ten years since I jumped off that cliff to end it all. I thought it was successful until I ended up in a cave," Harry said, his words coming out in weak gasps.

"Jamie! How do you know one of the enemy? Your words, and his, are strange. I'll expect a full answer back at the keep! Now leave!"

"I can't! I have to know what happened to him," Jamie cried.

Harry reached a hand over and grasped Jamie's. "You have to go. This is no place for a teenager from our world. I was found and given a place to stay and adopted by the Duke of Kilntred. He's the mortal enemy of the Duke of Honatine. Jamie, if you make it back, tell my parents I'm sorry."

Jamie nodded but Harry would never know his answer. He was dead. Jamie looked up in time to see three more men on feet attacking them. He didn't know what to do. He was practically naked, no shield, no sword, not that he'd know how to use either one. Not to mention no shoes. He stayed kneeling in the mud while Aaron and the others fought off the new onslaught.

When they'd beaten the men back and more of Aaron's men had interceded, Aaron spoke again. "Now, you shall leave this battlefield. Peter, Ryan, remove him whether he wills it or no."

"Yes sir!" Peter grabbed Jamie under one arm, Ryan the other, pulling him up. "Let's go!" Jamie went willingly. His mind focused on assimilating his circumstances.

It was slow going. The first fifty feet of intense fighting, Peter and Ryan let go of Jamie to fight the combatants off. Each clash of metal caused his heart to race. He wished he knew how to use a sword and wasn't mostly naked. His bare chest felt vulnerable in his current surroundings.

They were nearly clear of the battlefield when three men attacked. Peter and Ryan fought hard, but Jamie could see they were tiring. He saw a sword on the ground next to a fallen warrior and grabbed it. He lifted it how he saw the others handle their sword and tried to fight the third warrior off.

The man sneered. "You're nothing but a boy!"

"I'm sixteen. Old enough," Jamie replied indignantly.

"Sixteen?" the man laughed uproariously. "You need to work on those muscles, boy. You look like a girl."

Livid, Jamie swung the sword like a baseball bat and connected with the man's shoulder.

The man growled in fury, bringing his sword back to strike, but Peter blocked it. They fought hard, the metal clanging against metal. Jaime moved to the side as Peter and the other warrior circled each other. On they fought, while Ryan defended against the other two. Jamie felt useless and watched in desperate hope as his protectors fought on.

The sight awed him. He thought Ryan was a goner more than once when his opponent's sword swung close, but Ryan was too good for his enemies. He blocked and attacked all in one smooth move. Peter had pushed the crude man back onto the battle field. After agonizing minutes, Peter slashed his opponent's sword arm, the blood stain quickly spreading. The look of surprise on the man's face made Jamie wish he'd had his iphone to take a picture. The man met his eyes just as he was smirking at the priceless joke running through his mind. Jamie shivered.

Fear trickled down his spine. Yellow teeth appeared when the warrior smiled. "Laugh now, boy," he shouted. "You'll be quiet soon enough."

Jamie couldn't comprehend the man's meaning. He stared at Peter who'd suddenly started shouting at him.

"What?" he asked. I—"

Jamie opened his eyes. He didn't remember closing them. Where was he? He remembered his friends calling him chickenshit for not jumping in the quarry right away. He jumped, then, what? His head started pounding, the pressure manifesting itself against his left eye. The light, he recalled walking, er, falling, into the light and being in the midst of a battle. No, that can't be right. He must have hit his head when he fell. So where was he now?

Aaron strode into the room as Jamie was trying to put on pants with no zippers or elastic. As Aaron approached him, he tripped, falling face first against Aaron's chest.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"You're not James."

"I'm Jamie Daigle."

"Liar."

Jamie backed up against the bed at the ferocity in Aaron's voice.

"Where'd you come from?" Aaron stalked Jamie, their faces pressed nose to nose.

"I don't know. I fell through this light and here I am," he retorted, anger finally giving him the courage to stand up to the muscular man. He shouldered past Aaron, and went back to trying to make his pants stay up. "I'm not from around here. I'm from Long Beach."

He looked up in time to see Aaron's face pale. "It can't be. Stay here," he ordered as he stalked out the way he'd come in.

"Like, where the hell would I go?" he muttered rebelliously.

It seemed an eternity before Aaron came back. Wordlessly, Aaron pulled Jamie by his ear, down stone steps into a great hall. Jamie swung his arm up when they arrived. "I'm not five," he said angrily.

Aaron just gave him a dark look then ignored him, joining the group of people waiting in the hall. "What's happening? Where am I?" Jamie yelled at Aaron's retreating back. Why wasn't anyone saying anything?

"Aaron, there's no need to be rude. Jamie, I'm Alaina," she spoke softly, her voice like a haunting melody you wanted to hear repeatedly. He walked to her without conscious thought.

Aaron laughed. "Now I'm inclined to believe him. All otherworlders react to you that way. It's the siren half of you."

"Do you have any other family that found the light?" Alaina asked.

He started to deny it when he remembered the story of his uncle's disappearance. "My uncle. About twenty-five years ago."

"That explains much. As far as we can tell from others who've come, time in our world runs about ten years to your one."

"But that means my parents are frantic! I have to get back!"

Alaina's eyes told him the news before her words. "We cannot take you back. Your kind appear in the mist. We don't understand why or how, nor can we predict when. But it's why we've been fighting for that field. Each side wants the unknown power for themselves."

"But I don't belong here," he said, frustration making him bold.

"You do now, I'm afraid," the man on Alaina's left spoke up. "I'm Jonathan. You're family, related to the man who earned us our first title and began buying up land. Your uncle looked just like you, son. Look at James, and the portraits around you."

Jamie looked closely at the man, then the woven tapestries and paintings that lined the walls. He saw many men and women who looked like him, his father, and his aunts. His ancestors. He swallowed. His uncle had lived a good life. Still, he didn't want to be stuck here.

"We will take care of you. Teach you our ways," Jonathan spoke firmly.

Jamie supposed Jonathan was right. His best friend was dead—again. His life had deteriorated to him jumping off cliffs to prove himself to idiots. What did he have to lose?

"I can't wait."

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"Fantasy in the Cage" ~the prompt~

Leona, and AM … an adrenaline-filled welcome to "Fantasy in the Cage." As you know, this is a no-holds-barred competition, so dig deep and give our readers your best short stories. You will be allowed a maximum of 2,ooo words, and will have 24 hrs. to complete this challenge. The deadline is 12 pm EDT tomorrow, Sunday, Sept. 25th. Good luck to both of you.

~The Prompt~

For decades, Fairview Quarry had been a favorite spot for local high school students to congregate. This unseasonably warm October Friday inspired a dozen teens to skip school and party atop the lofty heights of the abandoned sites granite cliffs. Clad in swimsuits, the teen's employed their usual cajoling, as dares to jump off the quarry's highest point echoed across the murky surface of the water, nearly 90 feet below. Known as "Freebird," the spot had claimed the lives of three students in the past decade, the most recent fatality occurring just a year prior. Strangely, not a single body had ever been recovered, despite efforts by experienced search and rescue divers.

Now, the latest dead teen's best friend, Jamie Daigle, was contemplating taking the same plunge that had robbed him of his childhood companion.

"C'mon, Daigle, you chickenshit…jump!" said one of the truant teens.

Several taunts later, eleven faces peered over the precipice as Daigle plummeted, upright, and pencil-straight, toward the frigid surface.

Daigle fought the tendency to gasp as he broke the surface, the water temperature falling with every foot deeper he descended. He began to employ powerful strokes in an effort to return to the surface when a frightening realization struck; his body was being pulled deeper toward the submerged portion of the cliff face. He felt a burning sensation in his lungs, the need for fresh oxygen acute.

As panic began to take hold, Daigle felt a sharp scrape rake his spine, then felt his body rise to the surface. However, the surface he encountered was deep within a subterranean cave, a strange light emanating from just around the corner of the dank granite enclosure.

                                                                   *****

There you have it, ladies. Wow us with your writerly wonderment. Good luck!

An interview with Steve Umstead

Welcome to my interview with my great friend, science fiction author, Steve Umstead. Steve has just started writing Gabriel's Revenge, book 3 of the Evan Gabriel trilogy.

Steve was kind enough to share some of his thoughts and insights into the process of becoming a successful author. I hope you enjoy the interview.

 

When and why did you decide to start writing, Steve?

Start writing "for real?" I guess that would have been October of last year, when I finally got up enough courage and cojones to sign up for November's NaNoWriMo. I had written some before that, but had never – and I mean never – completed a story start to finish. I had a lot of first chapters, which I then went back and edited over and over again – ended up with a great first chapter, and nothing else. NaNoWriMo made me finally sit down and write, start to finish, saving editing for later.

 

What life experiences have best prepared you for being a writer?

Reading, hands down. I've been reading since I was 3 (so I've been told) and was into my mother's books by 7 or 8 (Jaws & All The President's Men still stick out). And as a youth in the 70's, a lot of movies (Star Wars) and television (Battlestar Galactica, Starblazers cartoons) made a huge impression on me in terms of science fiction.

 

Please tell us about your latest work.

The second book of the Evan Gabriel Trilogy, Gabriel's Return, just launched in mid-August, and continues the science fiction/adventure tale where Gabriel's Redemption left off. I term it 'near future scifi', as it's based heavily in reality and current technologies & settings. I enjoy that type of reading myself, and I feel it gives a wide range of fans/readers an opportunity to enjoy it – not just hard scifi fans.

 

What were your inspirations for writing it?

For many years I had the opening scene to Gabriel's Redemption in my head, right down to the conch ceviche they made on the beach in the Caribbean. When NaNoWriMo rolled around, I knew I wanted to use that scene, so I created an outline around it. From there, the Evan Gabriel character, his backstory, his motivations, his future, all grew out of it.

 

Please describe your writing process for our readers.

It's changed a lot since book one! Back then, (a) I didn't know of any other authors, as I hadn't even yet dipped into the online pool with them, and (b) was only writing for the challenge of finishing a story. That was a general outline created in October, then a minimum of two hours per night, every night, from November 1st through the 26th. I'd head into the dining room as the kids went to bed, left the wife to whatever TV shows were on the DVR, and wrote. Today? Much different. I have a LOT of social media commitments and promotional activities that can (and do) distract from the writing process. Gabriel's Return was started in April, and after some personal and job roadblocks in May & June, sat untouched. I went back to it in late June, then worked my tail off in July to complete it. I had lost motivation in the middle I suppose. Also, I didn't outline it – big mistake. For me an outline is necessary, as it shows me what scene I'm writing when I sit down to write. In a good hour, knowing the scene ahead of me, I'll do 1500-2000 words. (The last week of writing Gabriel's Return, when the story was very exciting, climactic, and almost telling itself, I wrote 30,000 words in seven days.)

 

To what degree are your fictional characters based in reality?

Well, I'll give a little inside information. The main character (Evan Gabriel) is named after my younger son. I thought he (10 at the time of writing) would get a real kick out of seeing his name in a story (again long before I ever considered publishing). And in the story, his older brother (Zack) is named after my younger son. As for basing the characters in reality, not much specifically – each one is a compilation of many characters I've seen on TV, movies, read about in books. I just tried to make each one unique without cliched – something that can be hard to do.

 

Can you tell us about your any upcoming projects?

I believe this is being posted on September 5th? That would mean Gabriel's Revenge, the final installment in the trilogy, is five days old. Readers of Gabriel's Return will see the reason for the Revenge name at the very end of book 2. Commander Gabriel has had a tough life, has seen many fellow soldiers die, and has reached a breaking point. If things go well, it should be released before the holiday season.

 

Would you like to experiment with a different genre?

I would, and though I love science fiction (and already have an written-down idea for a 4th, non-Gabriel story which I'll be working on next), I've always been a fan of the thriller/technothriller genre. That probably has a lot to do with being a huge Tom Clancy fan (back when he actually wrote his own books). Definitely something I'd like to give a shot, say early 2012?

 

Describe your ideal surroundings or conditions for writing.

Either pure silence, or white noise. I've tried to write in front of the television, but even with a show on I'm not watching, it simply doesn't work. My current spot (and probably forever spot, as I don't see our house suddenly gaining square footage for a writing study) is the dining room table with a pair of noise-canceling headphones and instrumental music (even music with lyrics throws me off). Or I might head to a local Panera or Barnes & Noble; background crowd noise (and free coffee refills) seems to work pretty well.

 

Do you have any writing idiosyncrasies?

Hmmm…if I take out the previous answers (headphones, instrumental music, etc.), not sure if there's anything left! I'll be switching to day writing for book 3; the after 9PM writing was good for a one month challenge, but I lost some family time. Instead I'll be carving out a long lunch hour(s) to get my 2,000 words per day. Therefore, that rules out the red wine and Guinness… I guess if I said I wear my underwear on my head, or drink a gallon of tomato juice with hot sauce, or insist on having the house at 55 degrees, that would make for a good story. But none of them are true…or are they?

 

Briefly share your thoughts on traditional publishing vs. indie.

I'm indie all the way. However, I think sometimes the traditional VERSUS independent is an argument taken too far. We're all authors, all trying to get our work into the hands of readers, and we're just taking different routes to get there. Is either right or wrong? Who knows. I only know that I am 100% satisfied with self-publishing my work as an independent author, as I want (need?) that control. Being self-employed for over ten years, I know that I want full authority to change my cover art, my pricing, my blurb, and so on. I read a comment from one traditionally published author I had recently done a book review on where she said they could not change the blurb, even though the book contained several erotica scenes not specified in the blurb. "The publisher won't change it." I was shocked. To me, that means giving up far too much control over something that I had put my heart and soul into. Nope, not for me. If I succeed beyond my wildest dreams, or fall flat on my face broke, I want to look back on it and know that I did it myself, and no one else was responsible, either way. Right or wrong, success or failure, it's on me.

 

What advice can you share with first-time writers?

One of the greatest pieces of advice wasn't from a specific person, but from the NaNoWriMo program itself. Don't stop to edit!! Write, and keep writing, until the story is finished. It could be perfect, or it could be a jumbled skeleton, but finish the plot line, then go back and fill in the details, rearrange scenes, fix poor sentences. Without that advice, I doubt I'd have ever finished my first book, let alone a second.

 

 

Bio and Contact Information

Steve Umstead has been the owner of a Caribbean & Mexico travel company for the past ten years, but never forgot his lifelong dream of becoming an author. After a successful stab at National Novel Writing Month, he decided to pursue his dream more vigorously…but hasn't given up the traveling.

Steve lives in scenic (tongue-in-cheek) New Jersey with his wife, two kids, and several bookshelves full of other authors' science fiction novels. Gabriel's Redemption was his debut novel, published in February of 2011, and Gabriel's Return, the second in the trilogy, launched in August. If his life allows it, Gabriel's Revenge, book 3, will arrive before the holiday season.

 

Facebook: www.facebook.com/steveumsteadwrites

Twitter: @SteveUmstead

Web Site: www.SteveUmstead.com

Amazon Links to Steve's works:

Gabriel's Redemption (1): http://www.amazon.com/Gabriels-Redemp...

Gabriel's Return (2): http://www.amazon.com/Gabriels-Return...

Barnes & Noble Links to Steve's works:

Gabriel's Redemption (1): http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/gabri...

Gabriel's Return (2): http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/gabri...

 

An interview with AJ Aalto

Congratulations, once again, to my wonderful friend, AJ Aalto, for her win in ~Horror in the Cage.~ AJ has shared some interesting facts about her travels along the writer's road. Get comfortable, and enjoy getting to know this fabulous writer.

When and why did you decide to start writing?

I wouldn't say it was a decision as much as it was a defense mechanism; stories kept piling up in my brain and there's only so much useable space in mine. I had to get them onto paper, or "paperspace" at least, to de-clutter the grey cells and stay sane … though my shrink bill would indicate this hasn't yet worked.

What life experiences have best prepared you for being a writer?

Studying Biology at University forced me to be able to condense complex ideas into simple terms, while maintaining all the pertinent details. It also taught me to pursue the "why"—which is invaluable—and to notice, compartmentalize and store minute details for quick retrieval: colour, size, texture, velocity. These skills are extremely useful in writing.

Please tell us about your latest work and what genre it falls into.

My first dark urban fantasy novel will be launching soon, entitled "Touched". The protagonist, Marnie Baranuik, is a bumbling forensic psychic and ex-preternatural biologist who has no social graces, and who would really prefer to hole up like a hermit, eat cookies and fail at Sudoku puzzles rather than solve ooky paranormal crimes. When a murder victim's severed head appears in her mailbox, she no longer has a choice in the matter. Enter the FBI's preternatural crimes unit, and Marnie's hermit days are over.

What were your inspirations for writing it?

I was taking a break from writing an epic fantasy trilogy which had flaws so big they were melting my face. I decided to have fun with a character who had tons going for her, if only she could by some miracle manage not to cock it up. Because she's a total spaz character, I get to throw mad crazy stuff at her—demons, psychotic psychics, a horny ex, an overly critical fuss-pot vampire, a ghoul or two—and watch her fumble, face-plant and fail spectacularly with most of it.

Please describe your writing process for our readers.

My days begin at 4 am. By the time there's sun, I'm at my horribly disorganized desk amongst piles of scrap notes, teetering books and clutter, to begin the frenzied typing with no sense of direction that is my day. I rarely outline. If I do, the outline is largely ignored. I try to keep note cards, but they too get shoved in the desk drawer and forgotten. When a scene/story/book is finished, I'm always surprised. I tend to do between 8-10 thousand words in a sitting. If I'm not going to hit that mark, I take a 10 minute shower with the hot water on full blast, aimed at the base of my skull, to stimulate creative activity. Then I crank the tunes and get back to work. I don't believe in writer's block—I believe in putting my muse in a headlock and giving him an atomic wedgie.

To what degree are your fictional characters based in reality?

I am fortunate enough to be surrounded by epic dorks and nerdly creative types. Sometimes our banter is Sadly, quite a lot of the Marnie Baranuik character is a blend of my foul mouth and the actions and random "deep" questions/observations of my wacky sister, Robin Landry. Neither of us are shy about being dorks. We're both enjoying our mental illnesses. I took Robin and myself, and the bizarre shit we do, and asked, "what if I chucked a broad like us into a broth of magic, monsters and creative maledicta?" When the answer was a dreadful shudder, I knew I was onto something.

Harry Dreppenstedt and Agent Mark Batten are also based on people I've known for years, people far more elegant and sexy than myself, whom I admire and lust after. I doubt I could write a book without both of them cropping up in it.

Can you tell us about your upcoming projects?

Book two of the Touched Chronicles, entitled "Death Rejoices", is nearing completion now, in which Marnie appears New and Improved … "now with people skills". Also: zombies, baby! I'm excited about the zombies. A third book in the series, tentatively entitled "Dirt Nap" is fully outlined … but as I've said: snark-ptooey-splat on outlines. I'm also collaborating on an as-of-yet untitled fantasy epic which will be released in small serial novels, the first few of which are outlined. My co-author is big on outlines, so I'm going to learn to be a good girl. Wow, I almost kept a straight face typing that.

Would you like to experiment with a different genre?

Dark urban fantasy and horror are my comfort zones (not sure what that says about me) but I'd give a murder mystery a whirl. A book must have death, snark and sex for me to enjoy it. If I attempted a mystery, it would likely be a forensic entomology procedural; that would make my science-y half happy as a vulture on viscera. And yes, science-y is so a word.

Describe your ideal surroundings or conditions for writing.

My study is, more often than not, far from ideal. I find clutter distracting but I'm always too mentally busy to clean. A quick shout-out to my wonderfully supportive husband, who recently hired me a maid because, and I quote: "I married a writer, not a house cleaner—obviously." Heh. Gotta love him.

For my writing to really flow well, I need music of the exact right feel for the scene—or for the character, each one has their own playlist—hot tea, something to nibble on, phone off, curtains closed, kids out, social media off (this is sometimes I problem for me), and candles. I dislike artificial light.

Do you have any writing idiosyncrasies?

I buy the "smell" of each character, and wear it when I'm having trouble connecting to them. I'm a hypersensual person due to bipolar disorder, but this works in my favour when I have to mentally bookmark someone. I use a specific perfume, cologne or scent. For instance, a vampire character of mine wears 4711 cologne, which has been made for over 200 yrs. I bought some, and tip it on my wrist when I need Harry to put the right words in my ear. Fragrances add a dimension to my focus that few other things could.

I also read everything aloud, and have a spectacular beta reader, Heather Goldie, who will read passages out loud for me also. Every Thursday morning I see Heather for instant, live reactions as she reads whatever sludge most recently dribbled out of my head. Her laughter is one of the sweetest rewards in the world.

Briefly share your thoughts on traditional publishing vs. indie.

Personally, I'm really enjoying the freedom of indie publishing. Everything is my call. I say when the project is ready, I say where it's going and for how much and for how long, how I promote it, what it looks like and ultimately sounds like. If it sinks or floats, that's all on me. On the other hand, I don't want the traditional publishing sector to suffer, as I'm a bookseller and a lover of print media. The smell of a new paperback novel can make my eyes roll back in my head, and I'm quite content thumbing through a Sunday NY Times leaving black fingerprints on my tea cup. I have a profound respect for the gatekeepers as guardians of eloquent language. We need to find a happy balance between the two for both to prosper. Traditional publishing is still important, but don't take your eyes off some of those indie writers; there is gold in this new stream of authors taking the drive and direction of their art into their own hands, and that is very exciting.

What advice can you share with first-time writers?

Write every day. Write. Every. Damn. Day. Make writing an obsession, not a hobby. Make it something you simply cannot get through your day without. If you don't take yourself and your craft seriously, neither will anyone else.

Bio and Contact Information

Bio: AJ Aalto is an unrepentant liar and a writer of  blathering nonsense offset by factual gore. When not working on her horror novels, you can find her singing old Monty Python songs in the shower, eavesdropping on perfect strangers, stalking her eye doctor, or failing at one of her many fruitless hobbies. Generally a fan of anyone with a passion for the ridiculous, she has a particular weak spot for smug, pseudo-intellectual assholes and narcissistic jerks; readers will find her work littered with dark, imperfect creatures and flawed monsters. AJ cannot say no to a Snickers bar, has been known to swallow her gum, and may be standing in front of her bathroom mirror, snort-giggling at exploratory homemade zombie noises, like all horror writers are wont to do. A fan of saprophytic harmony, blatant carnivoracity, skin slippage and the lovely bloat of putrefaction, she can usually be found lurking in underwater caverns, waiting for unsuspecting divers. Rumour has it that AJ Aalto is the secret cause of Rapture of the Deep–but it's likely she started that rumour herself.

Twitter: @AJAalto

Web Site: http://www.ajaalto.com/

"Horror in the Cage" ~the battle begins~

AJ, and Jesse…I'd like to congratulate you for writing two, absolutely horrifying short stories. Best of luck to both of you.

This cage match is going to be a great one, ladies, and gentlemen. Please read the following pair of shorts then cast a vote for your favorite. The stories are shown without writer attribution to keep things as fair, and unbiased, as possible. The poll will be open until 6 PM on Wednesday, August 31st. At that time, a winner will be announced, and will be interviewed on this blog on Sunday, September 4th.

I've included the prompt below, with the stories to follow. The poll is located at the end of the second story. Thank you in advance for your vote.

~The prompt~

Sean Fredrickson burst through the front door of his Denver condo, employing the usual theatrics associated with the bi-weekly Indian cuisine night he and his wife, Katy, so enjoyed. "Got your saffron…hon?" he called out. Katy was always waiting on the living room couch. "Honey?"

The smile faded from his face as he checked each room, failing to get a verbal response from his wife. As he rounded the corner for the dining room, there sat Katy at the table, her back to him. "Hon…why didn't you answer me?" 

Just as Sean placed the bag on the table and his hand on her shoulder, he noticed a disturbing, golf ball-sized lump on the side of her neck. Her eyes were focused on the wall straight ahead.

She gave no response.

A loud crash in another room startled him, as the couple lived alone. Sean rushed toward the living room and found nothing. He systematically checked each room, with the same result.

Confused and disturbed, he returned to the dining room.

The chair that Katy had been sitting in just seconds before was now empty.

                                                                   ~~~~~~~~

Blood Lotus

Sean called out for Katy again, his mind wanting to twist it toward a desperate scream but her name leaked out of him. Dripped slowly off his tongue, "Katy…?" His fingers left the back of the empty chair and as he turned slowly he found that figure standing there – not of his wife, but instead the man. He took in the beard streaked in blacks and grays, the twist of the mustache…

Sean was no slouch, he was a tall man with a deep voice and still hit the gym at least three days a week. Just over the cusp of thirty-four years on this planet, more than half that time with Katy – they'd gotten together when he was still playing baseball. Normally, he was a man who could hold his own…

"Mukesh?" Sean barely got that name from his lips as the giant of an Indian man was already swinging the baseball bat. The impact of the bat to the side of Sean's head made his body buckle and slip. Sean's brain was spinning, threatening to send him over the edge of the well. When the confused man's knees slammed into the hardwood floor his mind's eye projected a single lotus floating alone upon a vast lake. Sean watched the flower drift further from sight, pulled ever faster over a waterfall. Sean's ears sang the sound of a rushing deluge.

The husband pulled himself from the brink of the falls, but couldn't save the lotus – it sank over the falls and vanished. His consciousness was overtaken with the smells of rich and exotic spices. None of his senses could be trusted, save those smells which overtook his nostrils.

He was a stranger overwhelmed – a wanderer in distant lands. Sean might have been smiling when the Hindu woman who appeared from nowhere tied his arms behind his back. It was actually comforting to be bound so tightly when everything else in the world had become so dangerously unhinged.

…

Sean blinked and recognized the shoes, they were the ones that he had surprised Katy with. She'd been looking at them in the window that time in New York. Sean had slipped back into the store and bought them for her.

His head ached as the blood dripping from his nose began forming a thick pool upon the blonde bamboo flooring.

Katy was sitting in the chair she had previously vanished from once again, wearing what he always called 'one of those fancy dresses' ready to go out on their little date. Sean more imagined her than looked at her – auburn hair, green eyes that hid a mischievous and precocious nature, skin that glowed. This is how Sean always thought of her when he used more than his eyes to do so.

He tried to rise from the floor, even though his head pounded and he couldn't make any sense of how he had gotten there or why the kindly mute cook , Mukesh, from their favorite Indian restaurant, had clocked him so hard in the side of the head with his own baseball bat.

Mukesh stood silently in the background, not paying much attention to Sean on the floor or Katy. Vasu, the mother of the vast Hindu man, was standing over Sean's wife.

Sean couldn't take his eyes off the lumps scattered about Katy's still beautiful face. Sean struggled with the tight knots of the rope which kept his hands and arms held tightly against his back and he didn't find them comforting any longer.

The man watched as the old woman produced the syringe from the kitchen table. Katy's arms were open and lying over the arms of the chair. She was not bound and the look on her face as the Indian woman slipped the needle into the vein of Katy's left arm was intoxicating to behold. Katy's blood flowed into the syringe as he noticed how pale his wife was. The blood looked so warm, while Katy looked so very cold.

Katy was enraptured – Sean couldn't tell whether or not she was about to begin speaking in tongues, professing her love for the universe, or have an orgasm. His wife's lips blurred the line from one transcendental state to the next. The strange lumps on Katy's face and down her neck, invading the area of exposed flesh of the V cut of her dress and down towards her breasts, were full and threatened to burst.

"Katy…"

Katy shhhh'd him – grinning knowingly to the ancient woman who held the vial of her blood up to the light, flicking her bony forefinger against the needle and watching a dark red drop form at the tip.

"Katy, what is she doing to you?" Sean hated the sound of his own voice, normally so commanding, tonight it rang distant to him. That unsure speech when the world is big and new and terrifying.

The old woman made her way to the kitchen table, pushing the blood from the syringe into a small copper pot.

"Baby we have to get away."

Katy shook her head at the small voice of her husband, "We are, Sean. I promise we're going away. Soon."

Sean's nose sent those signals to his brain again, the old woman began to pour spices from a bag into the pot with the blood. She began to stir.

"We've eaten from Vasu and her son's table for years now," Katy said this as if to comfort.

Satisfied with her stirring, Vasu pulled the new thick mixture of blood and fragrant powders from the little mixing pot, the blood took on a new texture. It was thick and black. Vasu took slow, delicate steps towards the left side of Katy. Katy watched the woman and smiled down to Sean.

Vasu used the needle to invade the left side of Katy's neck and pressed the dark mixture of blood under Katy's skin. Sean watched mystified as the pocket beneath the skin filled with the mixture leaving the syringe. A new lump grew to match so many more covering his wife's ever pale skin.

"It's why we lost her. None of us are clean. There's too much evil in the world, Sean."

Vasu discarded the empty syringe. The pockets of tainted blood up and down Katy's body made her into a pulsing funhouse version of herself.

"I'm wearing the shoes you bought me." Katy clicked he heels together as the Hindu man stepped from the shadows. Mukesh placed the heel of his boot onto Sean's neck and applied pressure against the struggling man's windpipe.

"When you wake up I'll be ready."

Sean looked across the water and could no longer see the lotus flower.

…

When Sean awoke it was cold, Denver is like that, but he'd never felt a cold like this one. Everything about him felt damp. He was outside and lying on the ground.

He recognized the cemetery immediately, even on such a dark night. The plot they'd bought by the cypress tree. Sean's arms were no longer tied behind his back, but it wasn't something he immediately realized as they were so numb. He tried to tell his fingers to move, a million tingling pins were digging into the flesh. He focused on the bare cypress tree in the darkness and he couldn't tell if it was sprinkling rain or if those were tears he felt on his face.

He felt guilty for not coming here more often. His heart ached thinking about this place and the last time he'd been here. What he'd given up in this place.

What they both had lost.

Sean rolled onto his side and that's when he saw it, the earth piled high at the base of the tree. Sean caught himself just as he was about to roll too far and fall into the freshly dug grave.

His hand gripped the earth, he felt some of the damp ground slip and slide over the edge and into the hole.

Sean pulled himself up, found he was sitting on the edge of the grave with his feet dangling over the side. Mukesh stood by the tree, his big hands resting on a shovel. Mukesh's white apron was stained and dirty. The mother, Vasu, knelt across the grave from Sean with her arms spread like a vulture. She whispered to herself in a twisting tongue unfamiliar to any sound which had ever crossed the threshold of Sean's ears.

Sean knew he had to run. He didn't know why he had been brought here, what sick cosmic joke had been played to get him to his own cemetery plot across from that goddamn tree he hated so.

He was going to pull himself up and run. Find his wife and get her away from these two. He wasn't sure what they had told her, given her, drugged her with..?

The old woman's arms craned up towards clouds which hid the moon. Sean was going to run, but he had to look away first.

Sean looked down.

Katy was so beautiful, even with the hundreds of alien globes of death magic blood which festered upon her skin. She'd decided to change into the white dress. He remembered her on the beach in that dress.

She'd been wearing that same dress the night she told him. She'd smiled so wide every time she said that word she'd found ways to work into their conversation a hundred times…

"Family."

She was smiling up to Sean from her own grave, "We have to go now."

Sean found his voice again, the strength in it and resonance shocked him, "Yes, come on Katy. We have to go."

Sean pushed his hand down towards his wife, "Give me your hand."

"No, you have to come with me," Katy extended her hand, those long pretty fingers towards his dangling feet, "I'm not evil anymore. I'm full of good blood now."

Katy craned her neck towards her husband, Sean watched as one of the globes burst on her neck and the deep black mixture seeped out, draining into rivers over her pale white skin.

"Come to me, Sean. Stay with me."

Sean turned his face from the hole, looked out over the headstones. He could make out the lights of the world he knew, twinkling in the distance – a city blanketed in false stars.

"I can't," tears burst forth, slipping down his face, "We can't."

"The world is too evil, Sean. Can't you see?"

Sean looked again at the mother and son who waited silently for the rest of the night to begin. So much earth piled up at the boots of the giant.

"Please," Katy sang, "I can't go alone."

Sean didn't want her to go alone.

…

They lay together in the ground below the quiet singing of the Hindu blood witch. The only other noise were the shovelfuls of earth landing in steady intervals upon them. Sean held Katy and kissed the side of her face between the lumps which blackened her face. She had that look in her eyes that he loved so – wonder. As her sores bled out her soul, Sean tried to hold his own soul inside himself and close to her. The earth crept ever closer to their faces and he felt her hand close over his and she drew his fingertips down her body until her hand lay atop his and she pressed his palm flat over her belly.

"The world is too evil, Sean."

Sean kissed her again. "The two of us will be together," he promised her.

He let her press his fingers into her belly. Sean felt the lump there, the only lump on a body covered in them that contained any life, when it was too late for any of them.

"Family," she smiled.

Sean heard Mukesh grunt and the last lotus of earth turned the journey black and blanketed that final rational scream.

                                                              ~~~~~~~~~

Eating For Two(Hundred)

"Mosquito bite," Sean repeated, noting how the disbelief in his voice made his wife's forehead wrinkle with displeasure. "OK," he allowed. "It's a helluva bite, though. Sure you don't want me to take a look at it?"

"I'm fine, Dr. Fredrickson. You're a vet," Katy teased, "And I'm not a puppy with heartworm."

She had sauntered back into the dining room like nothing was wrong, claimed she hadn't heard the enormous crash in the other room, and hadn't heard him come in, absently scratching at the angry eruption on the side of her swan-like neck.

Now, the way she was eating her tandoori chicken wings made him wholly uncomfortable, but he couldn't put his finger on exactly why. Was it the prodding of that quick, pink tongue pushing each slip of meat between the bones, only to be captured by a nip of white teeth? Was it the way she sucked the red sauce off each finger in turn, giving every sticky drop her full attention?

Katy noticed his scrutiny with a casual flick of pale grey eyes then turned her attention back to her plate; his wife never minded their shared silence. Said it gave her more time to think. The first time they'd met, it had taken less than five minutes for her quiet yet agile intelligence to slap cuffs on his heart. Her ash grey eyes were intense when she turned that sharp focus on you, and she cared nothing for pretense. Which is why her determined indifference wasn't sitting right.

Sean figured Katy would let the silence stretch interminably, except to request half of his lamb biryani.

"So what are the plans for the evening?" he asked.

She began the routine of cleaning her fingertips with tiny, efficient slurps, letting a stripped bone clatter to her plate in the ever-growing heap, the wasteland of her dinner. Her appetite tonight was unnerving. He'd never seen her eat so much. Without warning, the beginning strains of Them Bones by Alice in Chains popped into his head and he brushed it out. When she finally spoke, she didn't bother looking at him, just picked up another wing and turned it over and over, planning her point of attack.

"Thought I'd grab a bottle of Jack, eat a T-bone in my underwear and watch Megashark vs. Crocosaurus." Her tone was so casual that he almost missed the underwear bit. Almost. "Why? You got a better idea?"

Sean blinked once. "There has never been a better idea in the history of mankind. Ever. Except you hate sharks. You hate the ocean." That's why I'm not a marine biologist. That's why we live in Denver not Florida, and I hack cat testicles off all day.

"Don't be a lip-diddling ninny," she said. "One night celebrating Shark Week won't kill us."

Her face gave no indication whether or not she was joking, or testing him; she merely raised a questioning eyebrow and nibbled earnestly on her last chicken wing.

"You're going to eat steak," he clarified, "After all those wings?"

Her reply was a slow, curling smile, one he didn't like, not one bit. Despite a wash of cold dread in his gut—dread, Sean, about your own wife? Get a grip—he feigned a smile.

"Of course you are." He motioned to her waist. "You're a bottomless pit tonight."

"I'm eating for two hundred," she deadpanned, and one greasy hand went up to slap at the lump on her neck. Her scrambling fingertips left smears of red sauce on the bulge that he figured would pop any second like a ripe whitehead.

The remains of her dinner finally gave way, tumbled off the pile and onto the table, a boneslide onto glossy mahogany. As she tidied them up, she kept one eye on him, sidelong.

"OK, woman," he relented, "But don't think you're getting me all liquored-up and out of my pants. I'm not a piece of meat."

Her sudden laugh, a bubbly delight, startled him into one of his own. She rolled her eyes grandly and drawled, "How will I ever control myself, Tex Mex?"

And just like that, she was his Katy-bear again; hearing his pet name instantly uncoiled the knot that had kinked his gut up tight. She slid off her chair.

"Getting a bit of a headache. Popping in the shower. Will you make us some tea?"

"Of course, babe," he said, letting his head fall back as she came to plant a kiss on the bridge of his nose. She withdrew, ruffling his hair. His eyes strayed helplessly to that troubling lump. As she swayed from the dining room, he called after her, "Hey, before you enter a Competitive Eating contest or join the Olympic Relay Feasting team, take a Benadryl?"

Her indulgent chuckle drifted back to him. "Yes, Dr. Fredrickson."

~

He knew better than to bother with cologne when she had a headache, but that stubborn part of his brain—the dink-not-think part that made his hands slap on a preemptive dose of Hugo Boss and wouldn't let go of the image of Katy licking her fingers—half-expected her to pad from the walk-in closet to the bathroom in bra and panties. When she did, mild surprise prevented him from taking in details. He saw only the tight swell of her buttocks cupped in her usual no-nonsense white cotton before she disappeared.

She said over her shoulder, "Your wife wants meat."

He scrambled for a classier comment than I've got meat, and came up empty-handed. "I'm feeling overdressed."

He pressed further into the bedroom to put the tea on the nightstand as the shower started, noting she hadn't completely closed the door. An invitation? His heart began to drum pleasantly high in his throat, and he stripped off his socks, pants and tie, and threw his shirt in the hamper.

"Hey, Tex Mex?" she called out from the steamy crack of the bathroom door. "I forgot my robe. Grab it?"

"If this is just a ploy to get me all hot and bothered, you're going to have to do better than terrycloth, this ain't cutting it for me," he lied, giving the robe a sniff to catch the faint, familiar scent of her perfume. "Silk next time?"

"Try not to be retarded."

"I'll do my best," he promised.

"Hang it on the back of the door, please? Don't slip. The floor is wet."

"You playing water park in here?" He picked a path across the slippery tiles. The floor was completely drenched, and closer to the bathtub the water looked greenish, like gel cleanser that hadn't been rinsed properly. "It's so steamy, I can't see a damn thing. Is that you behind that curtain or Megashark?"

"You caught us," Katy said, her voice abruptly grinding down low. "We're a whale."

We? He paused in the act of folding the robe on the bathroom counter, alarm hooking every muscle in his arms. "I was joking."

"We're a worm. A big, fat worm." She choked out something that sounded like: heartwormleviathantiamat.

"Honey, what the—"

Silence. A wet slap.

He let his breath stream out of his nostrils. "You OK, Katy-bear?"

His wife's voice was a breathy sob. "No."

"That's it. I'm running you to the ER to get that bite checked, just to be safe." He took another step toward the shower and his bare foot landed in something distinctly glutinous.

"We're a worm," she wept behind the curtain. Gagging, and more clearly this time, "Heartworm. Leviathan. Tiamat."

"Honey, you're sick, and obviously feverish," he told her with an uneasy chuckle. "Come on. Let's get you dressed."

He pinched aside the shower curtain in time to see a wriggling white maggot rinse down the drain. Choking hard, he jerked back as a downpour of tiny worms—hundreds of them, a rice avalanche—washed out of Katy's ruptured wound, pouring over the shelf of her breasts to rain down on her toes. An oily brand of fear shrieked escaping in his head; that same irrational part of his brain bent him at the waist to cram the plug in the drain, too late.

Katy's fingers scuttled up to clutch her contorted face. She moaned, "Oh God, Sean, oh Godgetheroffme," and tore at a flurry of snot-like filaments roping down to her forehead from above. Sean craned to look at the ceiling.

Tucked into the corner was a grub. Roughly the size of a pig, its doughy folds were the rubbery white of hard-boiled egg. Sean made fists, prepared to launch into the shower to pulverize it, when it opened two slit eyes, green and terribly sentient, and hissed his name. A raw quivering slash of mouth flashed open, spilling the heady stench of rotten fish. A gluey tentacle whipped under Katy's armpits and flexed. The one stuck to her cheek tilted her face as another rushed between her moaning lips and gagging tongue. Sean snagged the closest one and yanked. Half of Katy's cheek came away with it.

She didn't scream around the thick filament down her throat. She gurgled.

"Sean…plugged. In." Her breath hitched once, an instant before the slick, wet snap of bone breaking.

Shock clobbered him like a mallet between the eyebrows as the grub-thing hauled her up, dead weight dangling in his face, and greedily latched onto her shredded cheek. Sean pitched back in horror. Dumped off his feet to the slimy floor, he backpedalled on the meat of his palms until his spine was pressed against the linen cabinet. Several pairs of leathery wings unfolded with a sound identical to the one the plastic shower curtain made as it shuffled back into place. Something splashed in the bathtub; he fiercely denied that it could be Katy's corpse, but his brain cruelly reminded: bone snapping, limbs dangling …

"Just a taste," the grub-thing rasped, peeling away from the ceiling with a sucking noise. "We're in the mood for Tex Mex."

The curtain spilled open as he lurched to his feet. Something damp and fleshy thwapped him in the chest hard enough that his head snapped back. The blow sent him sprawling against the counter, where he knocked Katy's hairdryer and tangled mess of wires into the sink. Plugged in, she'd said. He double-checked it then wheeled to point at his wife's still form.

"Where I come from, you fry for murder," Sean forced out.

The grub crooked its head to one side, making triple chins of the white flesh. It sucked Katy's blood off each tentacle in turn, giving every sticky drop its full attention, before flinging bodily at him. Sean was ready for it.

Dodging the slap of leachy filaments and membranous wings with a snarl, he swung the hairdryer as if pistol-whipping the grub, ignoring the crack of the plastic. When it reared back as if to strike, Sean kicked out furiously. The grub smashed into the tiles and Sean, vaulting backward to a safe distance, threw the hairdryer. It was only as the appliance left his hand that he saw Katy move; her slim arms shot up to capture the grub in the full, sloshing tub.

The snap-spark was immediate. An inhuman shrill reverberated in the tiny room to drown out his own devastated howl and his hands slammed over his ears to block it all out. Huddling around his pain, he slid down the wall and coiled tight. He never heard the drumming of his wife's heels against the bottom of the tub as together with the grub she convulsed and smoked. Nor did he allow himself to look at the frozen rictus of Katy's final victory when later he examined the gelatinous ectoplasm splattered in roping arcs across the tiles. The blended stench of death, seaweed and fried fish ensured that Dr. Sean Fredrickson, ex-vet turned marine biologist and monster hunter, would never eat seafood again.

~

Three hours later in the Stygian depths of Denver's sewers, two hundred maggots sprouted wings.

View This Poll

"Horror in the Cage" ~the prompt~

A warm welcome, AJ, and Jesse, to "Horror in the Cage." As you know, this is a no-holds-barred competition, so give it your all and creep us out with your amazing writing skills. You will be allowed a maximum of 2,ooo words, and will have 24 hrs. to complete this challenge. The deadline is 12 pm noon, EDT, on Sunday, August 28th. 

~The prompt~

Sean Fredrickson burst through the front door of his Denver condo, employing the usual theatrics associated with the bi-weekly Indian cuisine night he and his wife, Katy, so enjoyed. "Got your saffron…hon?" he called out. Katy was always waiting on the living room couch. "Honey?"

The smile faded from his face as he checked each room, failing to get a verbal response from his wife. As he rounded the corner for the dining room, there sat Katy at the table, her back to him. "Hon…why didn't you answer me?" 

Just as Sean placed the bag on the table and his hand on her shoulder, he noticed a disturbing, golf ball-sized lump on the side of her neck. Her eyes were focused on the wall straight ahead.

She gave no response.

A loud crash in another room startled him, as the couple lived alone. Sean rushed toward the living room and found nothing. He systematically checked each room, with the same result.

Confused and disturbed, he returned to the dining room.

The chair that Katy had been sitting in just seconds before was now empty.

                                                              *****

There you have it, my heroes of hell-raising, horror. Have at it, and give us two short stories that will make it difficult for us to choose a favorite.

Best of luck to both combatants. This much-anticipated pair of stories will post Sunday, August 28th, by 1 PM, EDT, and will be shown without author attribution to make the voting as unbiased as possible. Readers will be able to vote until 6 PM on Wednesday, August 31st. 

Let this horror cage match begin.

All the best,  AB

An interview with Eden Baylee

This week, it's an honor and a privilege to welcome erotica author, Eden Baylee to my blog. My dear friend was kind enough to  share some of her thoughts and experiences as a writer. Pour a tasty beverage, get comfortable, and enjoy learning more about Eden and her wonderful work.

When and why did you decide to start writing?

I started writing creatively around age 15. I love the English language and how words can stimulate me in such a unique way.
 
What life experiences have best prepared you for being a writer?
 
Two things: Travel and work.
 
Traveling on my own for almost two years taught me life lessons I could not have acquired any other way, namely: surviving outside of my comfort zone; getting along with people of different cultures; and learning tolerance. It made me realize at an early age that language is but a small component of what we need to communicate. Even though we speak different languages all over the world, people are essentially the same.
 
Although I worked in the conservative field of banking for twenty years and grew tired of it, it still prepared me for my life as a writer. It taught me time management skills and how to network with people. Whether it's to get buy-in from corporate partners, or make connections with authors and book reviewers, it's essential to be professional and always treat people with respect.
 
 
Please tell us about your latest work and what genre it falls into.
 
My latest work is my first published book called Fall into Winter, an anthology of four novellas. Two stories take place in the fall and two in the winter. The genre is literary erotica.
 
 
What were your inspirations for writing it?
 
Ha! Many. I'm inspired by intelligent conversation, and the book is quite dialogue-heavy at times. One of my favorite things to do with friends is have a healthy debate about almost anything anyone would want my opinion on. I'm not much for talking about people, as I prefer to share ideas.
 
I'm also a lover of music, foreign countries and foreign languages, and you'll find all that in my book.
 
Of course, I'm also a lover of strong men and women, so…you'll find them in the book too.
 
 
Please describe your writing process for our readers.
 
My process is simple – get up, turn on the computer, start typing. When I get hungry or need a bio break, then I attend to those annoyances. I'm not much for deconstructing how I do things; I consider it a waste of time. 
 
 
 
To what degree are your fictional characters based in reality?
 

Each female character has something of me in her, and I am certain that most women will be able to relate. At any one time, a woman can be one, none, or all of these. It's what makes us so complex.

Ella is headstrong and fearless.

Stella has an adventurous spirit.

Leah is a career woman driven by success.

Elena is fiercely loyal, sometimes vulnerable, but never weak.
 
Most men I know are equally diverse, and intelligence is the main quality. They love women and know how to be with them – in and out of the bedroom.
 
 
Can you tell us about your any upcoming projects?
 
I'm desperately trying to finish my second book called Spring into Summer. It will also be an anthology of four stories that take place in …you guessed it, the spring and summer. After this, I'm switching gears to write full-length novels.
 
 
Would you like to experiment with a different genre?
 
I will when I write my third book. It will have erotic elements, but it will be a thriller/suspense à la John Fowles, one of my favorite authors.
 
 
Describe your ideal surroundings or conditions for writing.
 
I have it now, on the couch with my laptop and silence around me, or as close to silence as possible.
 
 
Do you have any writing idiosyncrasies?
 
In the fall and winter months, I wear a toque. I hate having my head cold, plus I read somewhere that it keeps all the great ideas from escaping.
 
 
Briefly share your thoughts on traditional publishing vs. indie.
 
I'm self-published, and I'll do it again for my second book. I'm anal when it comes to the overall look of my book, so it's important for me to have total control. I'm not closed to the idea of traditional publishing, but I'm definitely happy with the indie route so far.
 
I think the pendulum is swinging away from traditional publishing as indie authors produce better books, get them into the hands of readers faster, and keep more of the profits. Traditional publishing no longer has the cachet it used to have, and indie publishing is losing its stigma. It may be a slow, gradual process, but it's already happening.
 
 
What advice can you share with first-time writers?
 

My mantra to myself: Keep writing. Be persistent. Believe in yourself.

 
 
Bio and Contact Information
 
Eden writes erotica, provocative stories incorporating all her favorite things: travel; culture; and sex. Sometimes there's romance, sometimes not. Sometimes there's a happy ending, sometimes not. What is consistent are the multi-dimensional characters who grow and change as the stories progress. Sex is the backdrop, but a very important element in their evolution.
http://www.amzn.com/B004NIFDES
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/edenbaylee
Twitter: http://twitter.com/#!/edenbaylee
Web Site: http://www.edenbaylee.com/
Smashwords: http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/68904




eden baylee
EXCITING, EXOTIC, EXTREMELY EROTIC
#1 bestselling erotica & anthology

www.edenbaylee.com

www.BlackInkWhitePaper.wordpress.com

An interview with Amelia James/@TrashyWriter

Congratulations, once again, to Amelia Jamess, winner of "Erotica in the Cage." I asked Amelia some questions about her experiences as a writer. Pour yourself a beverage, make yourself comfortable, and get ready to learn more about Amelia and her work.

When and why did you decide to start writing, Amelia?

I started writing short stories in the 3rd grade. Why? I don't remember. I've always had an active imagination, and my teacher wrote 'tends to daydream' on my report card. (I'm gonna have that carved on my tombstone.) Maybe she encouraged me to write.

What life experiences have best prepared you for being a writer?

I think it was my lack of life experiences that prepared me. I write romance. I grew up in a very conservative and restricted home and community. I wasn't taught anything about sex. I didn't have the innocent, exciting sexual discovery teens are supposed to have. I was made to feel guilty about having sexual desires and wanting to explore them. Sex was a big dirty secret, and I learned about it through romance novels. They were my escape.

Please tell us about your latest work and what genre it falls into.

I have two contemporary romance novels: Tell Me You Want Me and Secret Storm. I also published an erotic short story collection: The Devil Made Me Do It and a paranormal romance short story: One Wild Night.

Tell Me You Want Me is a contemporary erotic romance. It's flirty and fun, sexy and steamy. It's the story of two people who have a lot to learn when it comes to love and relationships. Austin Sinclair is a charming bad boy who has so many women he can't remember their names. Jane Elliot is a career-oriented woman who desperately needs some fun in her life.

Secret Storm isn't a sequel, but it takes place after Tell Me and it involves the same characters. It's darker than Tell Me, and it has more emotional depth and passion. Jack Wheeler is a man with a dark past, but he won't let anyone close enough to help him deal with it. Sara Jensen is a caring, giving woman who jumps at the chance to help others, but she runs away from her own problems.

What were your inspirations for writing it?

My dirty mind. I just finished writing a short story about a man who was dark and brooding and it took a lot out of me, so I decided to write about a fun hero, a charming bad boy. After I finished having fun with Austin in Tell Me, I went back to my dark side again to write Jack's story in Secret Storm.

Would you please describe your writing process for our readers.

I get to know my characters and listen to their stories. Then I write a basic plot so I know what I want to do to them. After I finish the first draft, I edit, re-write, nitpick, re-write, proofread, re-write, etc….

To what degree are your fictional characters based in reality?

There's a little bit of me in my heroines, Jane Elliot and Sara Jenson. Jane is the woman is used to be, and Sara is the woman I would like to be. There's a lot of my husband in Austin Sinclair, especially his ability to make anything Jane says dirty. Jack Wheeler is the most fictional of my characters. He was inspired by a man I don't understand so I used my imagination to decide what drives him. Jack fascinates me.

Can you tell us about your any upcoming projects?

I'm working on another short story collection with two related novels in mind. The short story collection will be a series of stories about three characters (two men, one woman) and their relationships with each other. Each story will be told from a different character's point of view. It's a twisted and complicated threesome. The novels are a sequel and a prequel.

Would you like to experiment with a different genre?

One Wild Night is a paranormal romance. That's something I've never written before. I think I'll always write romance or erotica. It's what I enjoy the most.

Describe your ideal surroundings or conditions for writing.

Lying naked in a hammock on a tropical beach, swaying in a cool breeze…. Oh, wait. For writing? Quiet. I need a quiet place with no distractions: no phone, no TV, no music. I need focus. And comfort. Sometimes I sit on my bed with lots of pillows.

Do you have any writing idiosyncrasies?

I have imaginary people in my head, but I think all fiction writers do. So I guess that makes me normal among writers.

We would love to hear your thoughts on traditional publishing vs. indie.

Both are difficult. Getting published with a traditional publisher takes lots of time and a really thick skin. Self-publishing gives you more freedom and control, but you're responsible for everything. All authors (and writers associations, agents, editors, etc.) need to realize we're in this together, no matter how we're published. We're not competitors. I don't know what the future of publishing will look like, but it won't be pretty if we don't work together.

What advice can you share with first-time writers?

Writing is an art. Publishing is a business. Neither one is easy. Don't give up. Be patient and persistent. Don't give up. Did I say that already?

Bio and Contact Information

Amelia James started reading steamy romance novels in junior high, but her mom took them away from her, so she started daydreaming instead. After she got married, she wrote some of her naughtier daydreams down and sent them to Playgirl magazine. Two of them got published. She kept daydreaming and writing stories until her dirty stories turned into trashy books.

She lives in Colorado, but she'll always be a loyal Wisconsin Cheesehead. When she's not lusting after her next bad boy hero, she looks for inspiration in sci-fi and action movies, football players, bloodsucking lawyers, muscle cars, and kick-butt chicks.

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/AuthorAmeliaJ...

Twitter: http://twitter.com/#!/TrashyWriter

Web Site: http://trashystreasures.wordpress.com/

Amazon Link: http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B004SJSLQE

Smashwords or other links: http://www.smashwords.com/profile/vie...

Barnes & Noble; http://www.barnesandnoble.com/c/ameli...

"Erotica in the Cage" ~the results~

Hello everyone…the voting is done, and the fourth "In the Cage" series battle has been fought and won.

Amelia James (@TrashyWriter) is the "Erotica in the Cage" winner with her story entitled "Dangerous Heels." Congratulations to both combatants…Eden Baylee's story, "A Good News Day" fell behind by a mere two votes.

Though Amelia walks away from "The Cage" with bragging rights and an interview on my blog which will post this coming Sunday morning, I would also like to offer an interview to Eden Baylee which will post a week from this coming Sunday.

Amelia, and Eden…thank you so much for participating in this fantastic bout. You are both fantastic erotica writers, and I'm honored to have hosted you both.

All the best, Al

"Erotica in the Cage" ~the battle begins~

*WARNING* ~ The following content contains material that is VERY graphic in nature, and is intended for people eighteen years of age, and up. Reading these stories may cause priapism, cold sweats, self-flagellation, memory loss, and a strong desire to consume massive quantities of alcoholic beverages. You have been warned.

Eden, and Amelia…I'd like to congratulate you for writing two smoking-hot short stories. Best of luck to both of you.

This cage match is going to be a tight one, ladies, and gentlemen. In my humble opinion, never has the cage seen two stories that were so close, from a competitive standpoint.

Please read the following pair of shorts then cast a vote for your favorite. The stories are shown without writer attribution to keep things as fair, and unbiased, as possible. The poll will be open until 6 PM on Wednesday, August 3rd. At that time, a winner will be announced, and will be interviewed on this blog on Sunday, August 6th.

I've included the prompt below, with the stories to follow. The poll is located at the end of the second story. Thank you in advance for your vote.

                                                                 ~The Prompt~

Vince Manning awoke with high hopes for his Friday night. His high school sweetheart, Chelsea, who he'd been with now for nine years, had plans for the weekend to hang out with her old roommate from college. This left Vince free for the evening to hit happy hour with his co-workers at the local pub, including the smoking-hot Jessica. And they'd been talking about it for days.

Jess was the same height as Chelsea, and both had long straight, brunette hair, but that's where the similarities ended. He knew he could have Jessica, and was looking forward to the pub. Yet, as fate would have it, upon arriving for work, he discovered Jessica was out today.

Profoundly disappointed, Vince later bowed out of the early evening festivities and headed back to his apartment. Upon arrival, he entered his bedroom and was startled. His girlfriend was under the covers, face-down, with nothing showing but her shiny hair.

"Babe, what are you still doing here?" he asked.

"Well hello, sweet thing," his co-worker Jessica said as she rolled over and looked him up and down.

"Jessica…what the—"

                                                                  Dangerous Heels

"Why are you so shocked?" Jessica leaned back against the pillows and dropped the sheet, catching it on her erect nipples. "You've been imagining this for days."

Well yeah, but how did she know that? "What are you…? How did you get…?" The sheet slipped and Vince took a good look at the gorgeous tits he was dreaming about all week. "I um…." Dammit, he couldn't think when she was naked. Vince's dick got hard. "You're…."

Jessica laughed and threw the covers back. Yep, she was naked all right. Her long brown hair almost touched her nipples. She slid one foot off the bed and her legs spread, showing off her shaved pussy. Fuck yeah. He begged Chelsea to shave her bush for him, but she said it was too much work. Where her pubic hair should've been, Jessica had a tiny lip print tattoo. Chelsea didn't have any tattoos, and she refused to get one. Her body was naturally perfect, she argued.

Jessica stood up and posed for him, one hand on her hip, the other teasing her nipple. "You can look, but I hope you'll touch." The hand on her hip slid lower, spreading her pussy lips and revealing a silver barbell.

Vince swallowed hard. He wanted Jessica the moment they started working together. Chelsea was great, and he loved her once. But they were together since high school, and he needed something…else. When a woman as hot as Jessica offered herself on a platter, only a crazy man said no. "I probably shouldn't…."

Was he fucking insane?

"I probably shouldn't leave the front door unlocked." He ran to the living room and locked the door, closed the blinds, switched off the lights and smiled. If he turned Jessica down, he wouldn't get another chance. Chelsea would never know.

When he got back to the bedroom, Jessica was sitting on the bed, leaning back on her hands still naked except for the sky high come-fuck-me heels. Chelsea never wore those either. She said they made her feet hurt.

"Don't make me wait, baby." Jessica teased her nipple with her five-alarm red fingertips.

Vince grinned and unbuttoned his shirt. Jessica grabbed his belt buckle and pulled him toward the bed, unzipping his jeans and wrapping her hand around his hard cock. They pushed his pants to the floor and she dropped to her knees, licking his dick up one side and down the other. Holy shit, her tongue was pierced too. Vince closed his eyes and grabbed her hair, shoving his cock into her mouth. Jessica squealed, but she didn't complain. Chelsea would have.

Vince pulled Jessica up by her hair and shoved her down on the bed, crawling on top of her. He slammed his dick into her wet pussy just to get a feel, and then he pulled out and put his lips on her tattoo, licking and nipping his way down to the barbell resting on her clit. Vince flicked it was his tongue. Jessica squirmed. He rubbed it with his lips. Jessica sighed. He sucked it into his mouth and pulled hard. Jessica flung her arms out and arched her back.

"Fuck yeah!" Jessica flipped her legs over his shoulders. "Do that again."

But before Vince could dive back in, he heard the front door open. Only Chelsea had a key. "Shit! She's home!"

Vince jumped up and pulled his pants on. He looked back at Jessica. Jessica! "Stay here. Hide or something. Just stay here!"

He ran out the bedroom door and stopped short in the hallway. Faking a yawn, Vince strolled into the living room. "You're home early, baby." What the hell!

"She stood me up." Chelsea dropped her purse on the coffee table and threw her coat on the chair. "I called her, texted her, nothing."

Vince clenched his fists. Dammit, his weekend was fucked. "I'm sorry, honey. You were really looking forward to this."

Chelsea plunked down on the couch and dropped her head in her hands. "We had such great plans."

"Maybe you can do it another time." He sat down beside her and rubbed her shoulders, playing the sympathetic boyfriend. "Do you want to fool around?" No reason he couldn't have fun anyway.

She looked at him like she couldn't believe he wanted to fuck. "Sure, why not."

Vince pulled her close and kissed her, wondering what the hell he was forgetting. Chelsea unzipped his jeans and bent down to suck his cock, licking him up one side and down the other….

Jessica!

Holy fucking shit! Could Chelsea taste Jessica's cunt on his cock? The thought was kinda hot, but no! "Maybe we should…." What?

"Don't talk." Chelsea sat up and kissed him, slipping her tongue in his mouth. He tasted Jessica's pussy, dammit. "Just take my clothes off."

His hands slid under her shirt, lifting it over her head while she took off her bra. Vince loved Chelsea's tits. Soft and warm with fat nipples made to be licked. His cock got hard as he unzipped her skirt and slid his hand down the front of her panties. One thing he still loved about Chelsea was her pussy. Always wet for him, pink and sweet like cotton candy, and—whoa—naked.

"You shaved."

Chelsea smiled. "A friend talked me into it. She said it would feel better for me."

"I think I like your friend." Vince laid Chelsea on the couch and nibbled her nipples. "Wanna see if she's right?" He didn't wait for an answer. Vince pulled her panties down and licked her bare cunt lips. Chelsea moaned and shivered, spreading her legs for more.

Vince ate it up, licking her slippery pussy all over, sucking on her throbbing clit while she moaned. His fingers slid into her, stroking and twisting.

"Oh. Oh yes, please. Don't stop."

She said the same damn thing every time, and he wondered when it stopped meaning something to him. Vince stopped just to spite her. He got up on his knees and grabbed his dick, stroking himself hard again. He wrapped her legs around his waist and shoved into her. Holy shit it felt good, but fucking Chelsea was the same every time. Her shaved pussy was new but nothing else changed.

"Ooo that does feel better."

Why did she sound so surprised?

"Uh-huh." Vince pulled out slow, watching her shaved lips cling to his cock, soft and slippery.

Chelsea wiggled and rubbed her naked cunt against him. She groaned and pulled him down, kissing his mouth while he drove into her again.

Vince pounded in hard and pulled out slow. Skin on skin. Damn, there's nothing better. Maybe if she shaved for him all the time, sex would be better. He bent his head to nibble Chelsea's neck, but something in the hallway caught his attention.

Jessica smiled and waved to him with her free hand because her other hand was buried to the knuckles in her own wet pussy.

Vince groaned and hid his face in Chelsea's shoulder. How long was Jessica watching? What was he gonna do? Two naked women in his house. Ultimate fantasy or fucking nightmare? Vince closed his eyes and buried his cock in Chelsea's cunt.

"Oh. Oh yes! Yes!" Chelsea grabbed his shoulders and moved beneath him. Her pussy got hot and tight, squeezing him like a velvet-lined vice. But she didn't come.

He peeked over Chelsea's shoulder and watched Jessica finger-fuck herself with two hands, one slamming in and out while she rubbed her clit with the other. Oh yeah, that did it for him. Jessica came hard and loud, and so did Vince, groaning in Chelsea's ear so she wouldn't hear the other woman a few feet away.

"Did you like that?" Chelsea nibbled his ear.

"Yeah," he sighed.

"He liked it."

Vince's blood ran cold when he recognized Jessica's voice.

"But you didn't." Jessica strolled into the living room on those dangerous heels and sat in the chair. She leaned over and stroked Chelsea's hair.

"You're right," Chelsea grumbled and sat up. "I didn't."

"What are you going to do about it?" Jessica smiled. "Embrace your inner slut, remember? Take control."

"I know. That's what tonight is all about, right?"

Vince heard every word, but he didn't understand any of them. "I thought…. You were going out with…. You two know each other?"

Jessica raised an eyebrow. "She didn't tell you?"

Tell him what? "Somebody needs to tell me something!"

Chelsea sat up straight and looked at him. "Jessica is my old college roommate."

Well holy shit.

Jessica sat back and smiled. "We ran into each other shortly after I moved here. I told her where I was working, and we decided to get together sometime."

"Yeah, okay, but this isn't exactly a lunch date." Vince stood up and ran his hands through his hair, pacing toward the kitchen. What the hell just happened? One minute he was having forbidden sex with an easy co-worker and the next she was coaching his girlfriend. He turned back toward the living room and saw two beautiful women—naked—laughing and touching like…. "So how close are you two?"

"Not as close as I'd like." Jessica reached over and stroked Chelsea's thigh.

Chelsea pulled back. "I know. But I'm not as uptight as I used to be."

"Oh really." Jessica leaned over and kissed Chelsea on the mouth, slipping her tongue between her lips.

Chelsea stiffened. Vince stiffened. Then Chelsea relaxed and leaned back as Jessica crawled onto her lap. They explored each other's bodies, caressing breasts, pinching nipples, fingering pussies.

"What do you want me to do?" Chelsea whispered.

"You're in charge."

Chelsea smiled and bit her lip. She leaned down and licked Jessica's nipple. "Mm. Nice." She caressed Jessica's breasts, stroking them like soft rose petals. "I like your tattoo." Her fingers touched the red ink, tracing the lip print.

"I like your touch."

Chelsea lay back on the couch, and Jessica's finger slid between her pussy lips. "You shaved."

"I told you I would. Do you like it?"

"That depends. Did you do it for me or for you?"

"I did it for me." Chelsea gasped as Jessica's tongue touched her clit, and she draped her legs over Jessica's shoulders. "Make me come, please please please. I need to come."

"Tell me how. You know your body best."

"Keep doing that." Chelsea groaned and lifted her hips. "I need…to come."

Jessica slipped a finger into Chelsea's cunt. "Do you like this?"

"Oh! That's perfect. Give me another one. Don't stop. Please! Don't ever stop."

Vince watched his fantasy lay eat his girlfriend's pussy. This would be the best porn ever if Chelsea wasn't fucking Jessica harder than she fucked him.

"Oh fuck! That's it, baby!" Chelsea grabbed Jessica's hair and held her down. "Make me come hard." She twisted and moaned, her skin flushed pink and she pinched her nipples until she squirmed and squealed.

Jessica flipped her hair back and licked Chelsea's juice from her lips. "What do you want to do with him?"

They looked at Vince, naked and hard as a rock.

"Did you fuck him?"

"Just a little."

"We figured that would happen." Chelsea stood tall and strong and looked at Vince, her eyes level with his.

That's when he noticed she wore four-inch stiletto heels.

"I'm not happy you slept with her so easily." She frowned.

"I uh…. You were…. She was naked." Vince protested. "You came home before I fucked her." Yeah, so, he wasn't such a bad guy.

"I'm not happy…period. For too long I let you walk all over me, fucking other women whenever you pleased."

"Baby, I–"

"Jessica, get your leather. He needs to be punished."

Jessica shoved Vince into the chair and stood over him, sticking her heel on his chest. "Stay."

Chelsea's smile chilled Vince to the bone. "When she's done with you; I'm done with you."

She was no longer his doormat.

                                                              A Good News Day

I was horny as I drove home after work. A scorcher of a day, it had been a real letdown not to see Jessica in the office. With Chelsea away for the weekend, I was looking forward to spending some time with the guys from the newsroom, but it was Jessica I really wanted to be with. She wrote the sex column for the paper, and I covered politics. We talked daily, and I found her openness and knowledge of the world to be a real turn-on. I loved Chelsea, but she didn't always stimulate me mentally. On the few occasions she met my co-workers, she appeared a bit intimidated, though she and Jess seemed to get along fine.

Arriving home to find the elevator broken again, I dragged my ass up the four flights of stairs. By the time I reached our apartment, sweat was streaming down my face. When I opened the door, the scent of jasmine hit me. That was odd ­­as it was not Chelsea's perfume. I didn't think twice about it and kicked off my shoes in the middle of the living room. Without Chelsea at home for the weekend, I could at least let loose for a couple of days. As I entered the bedroom, I pulled off my T-shirt, flipped on the light, and was startled to see dark, long tresses peeking out from underneath the covers.

"Babe, what are you still doing here?" I asked.

"Well hello, sweet thing," Jessica said as she rolled over and eyed me up and down.

"Jessica, what the…?" My heart began to race as the blood rushed to my loins. "What are you doing here? How the hell did you get in?"

She crawled out from under the covers wearing only a one-piece black negligee. The flimsy material couldn't hide her full, round breasts nor the fact that she had nothing else on underneath.

"Surprise, Vince," she purred, moving toward me, "I hope you're happy to see me."

I was suddenly aware I was shirtless as she traced her fingers across my damp chest, circling my nipples.

"Jess, how did you get in?"

"Details, details, you newsmen always need to know the facts. Isn't it good enough that I'm here?"

"Yes, but…"

Jessica continued to stroke my chest. I couldn't deny how sexy it felt to have her breasts pushed against me, but I wanted the details. I was a reporter after all, and I had to know the answers. How did she get in the apartment? Did Chelsea know about this? Was I being set up? My mind raced through all the possible scenarios until I felt Jess tugging at my belt, loosening the buckle.

"Come on Vince, you want me. I know you do." Her breath was soft and hot near my ear.

"Jess, there's no man on earth who wouldn't want you, but Chelsea—"

"Forget about Chelsea. She's not here, I am!"

Her words shook me out of my foggy state, and I backed away. "Jessica, I'm sorry. I'm not sure what you were thinking by coming here, but I can't do this."

"You can't, or you won't?" She stepped back and slid the thin straps of her negligee down her shoulders, allowing the delicate material to fall to the floor.

My jaw dropped as I stared at the beauty in front of me. Jessica cupped a breast in each hand and fondled herself, pulling on her nipples until they were long and hard. She moved to some imagined music, swaying her hips in an enticing dance, trailing her right hand down her stomach, and then lower toward her pussy… my god…her pussy. Puffy lips covered in wisps of dark hair could not conceal the slit that had already parted, its moisture an open invitation.

"Jess …" My mouth went dry.

"Look at me Vince, and tell me you don't want me." She moaned as she brazenly pleasured herself.

My cock strained against my pants as I wrestled with doing the right thing. Jessica was my fantasy girl, but Chelsea was my love. I couldn't believe what I was about to say.

"Jess, I'm going to take a cold shower now. As much as I want you, and believe me, I do want you, I can't. I'm sorry."

Jessica's expression suddenly changed to pouty disappointment. She bent over slowly, exposing her full ass cheeks and picked up her negligee. My cock was bursting as I watched her slip the garment back over her ample breasts.

"Fine, Vince. Go and take your cold shower."

                                                                * * * *

I heard a door slam after I got in the shower and could tell Jess was not used to being rejected. It took several minutes of the water hitting my cock before my hard-on subsided. Jessica was unbelievably hot, and she had basically offered herself to me. What the fuck was I thinking by turning her down?

I stood under the cold shower until I was numb and then turned off the taps. As I finished toweling off, there was a knock on the door. Damn, Jess had not left after all. I wrapped the towel tightly around my waist and braced myself for a confrontation. When I swung open the door, Chelsea stood in front of me. She was naked and had a grin on her face.

"Hi honey," she said.

"Jesus! Chelsea, when did you get home? I thought…" Then I saw her—Jessica in the background walking up behind Chelsea, herself naked, and wrapping an arm around my girlfriend's waist. The two of them seemed like the best of friends, smiling and writhing their bodies against one other.

"Hi again, Vince," Jess said.

I couldn't believe my eyes. Was I dreaming? "Will somebody please tell me what's going on?"

Chelsea planted her lips on mine and gave me a long, passionate kiss that sent shivers down my back. Jessica's warm body was also pressed against me as she nibbled on my earlobe. I grabbed both women around their waists, moving my kisses from one to the other. I got confirmation I wasn't dreaming when Chelsea ripped off my towel and pulled me toward the bed, leading me by my hard-on.

"I know we've been together nine years Vince, but I've still got a few tricks up my sleeve. Jess and I have been friends for awhile, and this is a fantasy of mine."

"I had no idea," I said as I positioned myself on my back while both women crawled into bed on either side of me. Where Jessica had round buxom breasts, Chelsea had smaller plum-shaped upturned ones. Her pussy was clean shaven and it looked more swollen now than I'd ever seen it.

"I was attracted to Jess," Chelsea said, "but I had to know she wasn't going to be a threat to our relationship. The fact that you could resist her proved it."

Chelsea got up and positioned her pussy over my rock-hard cock, teasing me as she gyrated her hips just enough to allow the tip to touch her. I groaned with desire to feel more as Jess moved beside Chelsea, and they massaged each other's breasts. The sight of two women kissing each other while one hovered over me was almost enough to make me unload right there. For a few agonizing moments, all I could do was watch until my cock disappeared inside Chelsea's hot, wet cunt.

As Chelsea bounced on top of me, Jessica crawled up the bed and offered me her breasts. I grabbed them and buried my face in her cleavage, kissing her perfect mounds.

"So, Mr. Hardcore Newsman," she said, "do you still need more details, or is this enough for now?"

She whimpered, and I sucked her erect nipples deep into my mouth. "I'm fine now," I managed to say before she repositioned herself, straddling my chin with her knees on either side of my head, facing Chelsea as they reached out to touch each other's breasts.

"Good," Jessica said, "because I'm going to sit on your face now, and I don't want to hear another word out of you."

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