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Coincidences! Controversy! Starting an old school attention fight!

8 Apr

Nothing to get one’s career in writing smut going like a bit of dirty dirty controversy. Unfortunately, to the great disappointment of scatophiliacs the world over, I refuse to fling my feces around, even at other people.

So, I was checking my amazon books, as an obsessive author is want to do every so often (every 5 minutes! I don’t have time to write anymore! what has become of me! let me check my books again!) and I noticed a little something.

You may know that Amazon, the clever buggers that they are have this little feature under each book.

Customers Who Viewed This Item Also Viewed:

and this is what I found:

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Holy SHIT!!! I thought (to the joy of scatophiliacs worldwide). Did I accidentally steal someone’s idea? I thought I was being original!

For those unaware this is my book:

medusa's lover copy

No, it’s probably completely different. It’s just a coincidence the titles are so similar. So, I went ahead and read the description:

“When Medusa was beautiful, finding a man to love her was easy. Poseidon fought for glances from her heavy-lidded eyes against suitors who proposed whenever she left her house. Even goddesses weren’t treated with such worship.

Athena grew jealous. She allowed Medusa to be violated in the Parthenon and turned her into a monster for her indiscretion.

Now when Medusa stares into the eyes of men, they scream as their skin hardens into stone. A caress against her cheek will be rewarded with the poisonous bites of the snakes that slither on her head.

No man is brave enough to approach her, until Perseus is ordered by the gods to kill her.

When they meet, desire sizzles between them. They are willing to risk it all-death, the wrath of the gods, the destruction of their families-if it means they can spend one more night together.”

I thought to myself: HOLY SHIT!

That’s exactly the plot of my short erotica story, except elaborated into a full-length novel.

Here’s the brief description of mine:

“Medusa is loathed by the gods themselves. Their jealousy and hatred forcing her into solitude, she spent an eternity alone with her desires when Perseus finally comes to kill her.

Will Perseus be able to destroy the monster, or will he be consumed by her desires?”

Then, I checked the publishing dates to see if I should be worried Mrs. Black would be writing me a complaint letter.

I published my story in July 2012, hers was published in November 2012. So, I was first. Therefore I say:

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pppthhhhhbrtttt!

Anyways, who knows if it is coincidence, I must confess I haven’t read the actual book by Mrs. Black, but it sure seems damn close from the title and description. Can’t really copyright an idea and a myth is a myth and by goodness she wrote the whole 224 pages, which is no small amount of work, but I would appreciate a shout out from Mrs. Black if my story inspired her!

So something like this:

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Juliana Sliema’s Medusa’s Lover is a real inspiration!

Anyways, check out my other stories before someone else steals my thunder!

Gone with the Wind

25 Feb

 

I know what many of you are thinking.

Actually, I have no idea.

But if you were thinking, When will she update her blog?

Then you have your answer. (Which is now, of course).

Unbelievable as it may sound, I’m not able to make a living writing sexy stories yet. So to avoid sleeping on the streets and eating from the trash, (which, generally would result in un-sexiness) I have been otherwise engaged.

So in order to apologize for my long absence (and blatant parenthesis abuse) I’m going to give away a freebie.

Starting next week 4th of March, I’ll be giving away, for a limited time only…

 

private eye copy

Hope you’ll enjoy it!

Teaser: Shipmates

24 Dec

shipmates copy

The heavens were spinning. Pleasure fogged my brain as I tried to react. He was so deep inside me I couldn’t tell were I ended and he began. Spinning out of control, he quivered inside me. It was almost like he was asking for guidance. I against him harder. Something important was escaping me. My mind reached out to it, but my thoughts were washed away by another one of his pulsations inside me. I writhed on top of him, arching my back and trying to push him away. The spinning slowed, but the pleasure didn’t stop. It was no use. We were lost in space together.

In the distance through the fog I heard screaming. I knew it was urgent, but his need was more important. And he needed me to… needed me to…

What did I need to do?

***

I remember first contact. Aliens were all over the news. President Obama was shown shaking hands with the insectoid leader, smiling to the cameras. The kind of picture needed to reassure the country. Maybe the world.

Nothing much changed. They gave us a few trinkets from their ship to amuse us, while they orbited the planet. One thing on the planet did not stop when the aliens arrived: business. T-shirts, replica ships, action figures, movies, the aliens were everywhere. They were our heroes, our salvation, our key into interstellar travel. You’d think the aliens had instigated a PR campaign. They didn’t, but we sure realized they were a marketable product.

They were just waiting. Waiting for the big guns to arrive.

The world collapsed into chaos when they did arrive. Their ships outclassed our own. Our resistance was pathetic. Capitals cities were wiped off the map in the blink of an eye.

The epidemics started. Intentional or not, their “trinkets” were killing us slowly. Our immune systems weren’t equipped to deal with their foreign viruses and bacteria. I don’t know how many died. No one kept records anymore.

Resistance was organized from the remnants of NATO. It could barely be called a resistance. The aliens ignored it, because it was a shit-hole city like any other. Far from their settlements, it was walled in and subject to the occasional raid. It was referred to as the Eastern Reservation. The locals called it the ER. An apt title considering it was filled largely with the sick and the injured.

I made my way there from the rubble of Valley Falls. My nowhere village wasn’t targeted, but its proximity to New York City made it suffer in collateral damage. Ironically most of the damage was caused by the inefficient weapons of the American government.

Alone, without family, without friends, they welcomed me into the ER. My first day there I volunteered to join the militia. Let them strap a bomb to me, I would walk straight at those insectoid fuckers and take as many of them as I could down with me.

The militia welcomed me with open arms and enrolled me in their pilot training program. They did some bullshit tests of intelligence and psychology. A lot of patterns, blots of ink, and stupid questions about things that didn’t exist anymore. If a train leaves Philadelphia at 10:15 going 45 mph and another train at 11:50 going 65mph – who gives a shit, there are no trains anymore? I didn’t need any training to kill these bugs.

I was called into the NATO headquarters after they had evaluated my tests. Headquarters consisted of an underground archive with flickering halogen lights. Criminal records of insignificant crimes, lined the walls. Nobody had bothered to clean it out and its moldy smell permeated the humid halls.

They invited me into a small windowless room. The papers had been thrown out, revealing walls covered in cracks and wet splotches. At least the light didn’t flicker. Two men sat on foldable aluminum chairs behind a white plastic desk. An empty seat awaited me and I sat down.

“We’ve reviewed your test results,” said a skinny man with glasses. It was hard to imagine he was a soldier, but I guess these days the pool they could chose from was small.

I raised my eyebrow at him. I waited for them to hand me my bomb.

“You have been specially selected for a division of the resistance,” he continued. He readjusted his glasses, nervously.

“Great,” I said keeping my voice flat.

“I have to brief you on the fact that this division is highly classified. Once you enter this division you are not allowed to leave it unless you fail the training, in which case you will be assigned to another unit. I’m afraid that desertion from this division is punished by…” he cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable with the next words. “…swift execution.”

“Strap a nuke to me, I’ll make a personal delivery to the bugs while I’m at it,” I said.

He fidgeted some more and handed me a folder, “You will be joining our outer atmosphere pilot program. You’ve been given the code name, Azrael. Please use it in all communications with all NATO personnel. Captain Loki will take you to your training facility.”

 

Read more…

Santa’s Sexy Seduction

17 Dec

This is actually one of my favorite stories that I have written. Originally I was going to title it something along the lines of ‘Santa Comes on Christmas’ or ‘Santa Came in the Chimney’ but the story itself developed into something more elegant, more seductive, than a simple in and out by Santa.

I hope you enjoy the sample below and perhaps you can find inspiration from it for this Christmas and if no inspiration at least it should be able to cause a little perspiration. 😉

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I dressed up for Christmas shopping. My long sweater hugged my curves and made my legs look miles long. Black tights wrapped my legs, sheltering them from the winter cold. Experience had taught me always to dress for the unexpected. In these winter months, there are women who bundle themselves in thick sweaters and fluffy coats. They roll through the supermarket like gigantic, multicolored medicine balls. I refused to be one of these. At the supermarket the round bundles bumped into each other like erratic bumper cars, but I managed to slide through.

Perhaps I’m not being entirely honest about my reasons for dressing up. My friends may call me crazy, but I had to admit a small crush on the new bag boy in the supermarket. I picked the line where I knew he was working. He was a beautiful creature. The line was moving slowly with all the Christmas shoppers in front of me. The line could not go slow enough for me as I watched him, running my eyes across his body. His skin was tanned and smooth and his muscles rippled under his black t-shirt as he packed the bags. Tattoos of long, scaled dragons twisted around his arms.

He noticed my blatant stare and shot me a questioning look with cold gray eyes. Embarrassed, I could feel my face flush with blood as I pretended to look for something in my purse. I realized that my face wasn’t the only place where I felt the rush of warmth.

I tried not to look in his direction while he loaded my shopping cart with paper bags.

‘Do you need some help with these bags?’ he asked. His voice was a deep, soft rumble.

‘I think I can manage, thank you,’ I responded. Why did I say it? I dressed up for him, I wanted the attention and now that I had it I couldn’t get away from him fast enough.

‘There is frost on the parking lot, let me take shopping cart to your car and help you,’ he insisted. He grinned at me as if he could read my mind.

‘Sure,’ I conceded. ‘I don’t want to hurt myself and spend Christmas in bed.’

‘Christmas in bed doesn’t sound so bad,’ he teased. His hands brushed mine as he took the shopping cart from me. My heart beat accelerated as he stood this close to me. His musk fragrance with hints of cinnamon flooded my senses.

‘You coming?’ he asked walking off with my groceries.

‘Not that easily,’ I said under my breath and followed him into the parking lot.

‘Just let me know which trunk to put it in,’ he grinned. I considered saying mine, but I was too shy. Just the thought of it made my cheeks flushed. I hope he would attribute it to the winter air.

I pointed out the aisle and indicated my forest green car.

‘A Volvo?’ he asked with an exaggerated expression of disgust.

‘Hey, don’t judge,’ I grinned and opened the trunk.

He placed the groceries in the car under my admiring eye. His breath swirled in steamy bursts as he worked. The tattooed dragons writhing on his arms each times he picked up another bag.

 <<It’s just getting started! Read more…>>

Remember me

8 Oct

A simple tick of the box. Forever ingrained in the memory. A few bytes.

A few bytes that leave a mark, but heal with time. Blooming in reverse. Rust colored and wilted to soft scars of pink, until finally they disappear. As if you had never punctured my skin.

Fear and hesitation work much better to keep us apart, than distance and time.

It has been years or maybe hours when I see you again. At first we rotate around each other, planets unable to escape the gravity of each other’s orbit. Finally, we collide and in the ensuing explosion you kiss me.

You are still distance to me and I dig my nails into your back, try to uncover you, but you are already inside me.

 

Going deeper underground

1 Oct

Bodies pressed tight against each other, each person feeling their companion’s body more completely than the lover that held them last night (tired arms around them, half-dreaming of someone else). Now, they ignore the contact, losing themselves in celebrity gossip (they know more of them than they do about their own lovers), their music (they listen to more than their own lovers), and their books (whose characters they adore more than their own lovers).

“Please mind the gap,” the polite British recording advised the throngs of underground passengers as the doors open.

I stand back. I keep my distance and wait for the next one. I tell myself I’m not afraid to be touched, that I do not fear intimacy. Even the intimacy of strangers. The doors slide closed. The carriage gains speed slowly and shoots out through the tunnel.

“Not in a hurry to get to work?” asks an American voice behind me.

I ignore it. That’s what you do in the underground. Do not look at the other passengers, do not interact. Only the crazies will talk to you. After a while of silence my curiosity gets the better of me and I risk a glance back.

The man is tall and handsome with calm blue eyes. He wears a dark suit with lapels. He makes a small bow and a flourish with his cap. A pilot.

“Didn’t mean to interrupt your thoughts. You just looked… lonely,” he said.

“I’m… Aren’t you afraid you’ll miss your flight?” I asked, turning the questions around on him.

“Never. I always come on time,” he grinned mischievously and rubbed the hair at his temples nervously.

“I bet you say that to all the air hostesses,” I snarled at him.

“Pierced through the heart with your stern cruelty,” he grabbed his chest.

“Shakespeare, very clever. Does that get you into the mile high club?” I said, but couldn’t contain the figment of a smile.

“The mile high club is completely overrated,” he said.

“Oh really?”

“Certainly, I much prefer the mile low club,” he said.

“And where is that?”

“Deeper.”

“Where?”

He took my hand in his. At first I wanted to draw away, but his hand was surprisingly warm and firm. His fingers tangled perfectly around my own, like the roots of trees grown together over the years.

“Follow me,” and he pulled me down the tunnel with such confidence that not one passenger (all of them carefully looking at a spot where they would not see anything) raised an concerns.

My heart raced. I let myself be guided by his hand through the darkness.

“Is this safe?”

“Absolutely not,” his white teeth glinted in the darkness of the tunnel.

“Aren’t you supposed to be concerned about safety?” I asked.

“Other people’s safety. Not my own.”

A rumbling, like approaching thunder echoed through the tunnel and the lights of an approaching train, lit the walls. Each drop of condensation sparkling like a tiny star. He pressed me against the wall with his entire body and I was conscious of his every curve, his breath pushing against my chest as the wind of the passing train whipped my hair against his skin. I would almost feel each strand as an extension of myself, as fingers gently stroking his skin.

The train passed and it was silent once more. He pulled away from me, I held fast.

In the darkness, I felt afraid, I felt safe, I felt him. Hard against my hips. He lifted me and I soared. He placed me on the rails as I unfastened his belt.

“Are you afraid?” he asked.

“Not of the train, not of death,” I said. He slid his hands under my shirt and I shivered at his touch.

“What are you afraid of then?”

His fingers trailed over the indentation of my spine down between my legs.

“That,” I whispered. I trembled (Anticipation? Fear? God! I did not know.)

His touch opened me and the trembling stopped (together with the rest of the world).

“Is that so scary?” he asked.

“Terrifying,” I responded.

“Sometimes you need to fear to be alive.”

“I’m always afraid,” I whispered.

“And now?”

“No.”

He pushed inside me and I welcomed him in (my body fought the intrusion). His eyes closed. He was leaving (my body relished the intrusion). I pulled him back in (our bodies vibrated in unison). We melded with the sound of distant thunder (waiting open-mouthed for the drops of rain to come).

The distant thunder reached a crescendo (white lightning blinding us). Together we came (a storm that spun us around left us drenched, but happy). We climbed back out.

The breeze of the passing train teasing out hair as he stood again covering me with his body (I could think of nothing else but his shape).

“See. I always come in time,” he kissed me.

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