Tag Archives: kindle

Juliana Sliema: On eBooks

19 Mar

Unfortunately, unlike the ‘It must be 5 o’clock somewhere’ doesn’t work as ‘It must be Monday somewhere.’

Today, rather than write anything steamy, I’d like to borrow a page from Nietzsche and modernize it. Actually, to be quite honest I’m not even sure it Nietzsche specifically wrote anything “On Books”, but at least I’m stealing his format.

Hate them or love them, eBooks are a revolution. Like the dot.com revolution, the vast amount of aspiring authors have caused the market to mushroom and implode, popping the eBook bubble for authors. Companies like Amazon still make great business out of self publishing authors, based on what I would like to coin, the office principle; stealing, er, I mean earning, a few cents from the millions of self-published authors. Even if you sell only one book to your mother (hopefully my mother hasn’t read my books!), if every self-published author manages this, Amazon or whatever service you’re using still comes out with a decent profit. (Although they may disagree. 🙂 )

But a digress. My English teacher would have failed me for terrible essay writing structure, but she’s probably my biggest fan without her knowing it. That’s right, you know I’m talking to you.

Back to the point I was going to make which is despite all their flaws and limitations eBooks give us authors an incredible opportunity to experiment. Basically, when cutting out the publishing costs there is no risk for us. We can write our generation’s Animal Farm without having to go from publisher to publisher and getting rejections for political reasons. Although of course it is “impossible to sell animal stories in the U.S.A.”

We as authors can bypass that bullshit now.

Content isn’t the only way we can experiment. We have complete creative freedom to do what we like with the book. Adding pictures, graphs (the little known art of erotic statistics – “show me another chart, baby” is a common phrase in many academic circles), hyperlinks, there is much more flexibility than just paper.

Now, I don’t pretend to be an expert in anything. There’s even probably a sex trick or two you could teach me, I’m talking to you English teacher. But… I don’t think this potential is fully being tapped into by authors. Especially established authors. You have the audience already, make an experiment see how it goes.

I’ve got something in mind and will let you know when it’s up. It’s just slightly more work than an ordinary story and I need the time.

The comments are open if you want to throw ideas at me, or each other. Just don’t complain when an idea hits you smack in the face.

4 Mar

I knew she was trouble from the moment she walked through my door. Her kind of woman always meant trouble. Long blond hair flowed over her bare shoulders. Endless legs extended by expensive stilettos and a designer dress that cost more than a year of my rent. Back in the days I could afford rent, since I was sleeping in the office these days. She stared down disapproving of my feet on the desk. It probably wasn’t ladylike enough for her taste.

“Can I help you?” I asked pulling out two whiskey tumblers and a bottle of Scotch. Cheap shit, barely aged past three years, but it was all I could afford at the moment. Something told me my fortunes were about to change.

“I’m looking for T. Kane, P.I.” she said.

“How can I help you?” I poured her a glass of whiskey before pouring one for myself. “Take a load off.”

“You’re Kane?” she asked with a mixture of surprise and disgust.

“Tina Kane, at your service. Sorry if I don’t meet your standard, but not all of us can marry rich,” I downed my whiskey.

“Marry rich?” she scoffed. “I wouldn’t have to come here if I married rich.”

She gave the chair an apprehensive look clearly debating whether she should sit down.

“I cleaned that chair about a year ago after Fat Joe sweat all over it. It’s probably the cleanest thing in the office now,” I said.

She sat on the edge of the seat, careful not to let her skin touch any part of it.

“I actually came to you, because my husband is cheating,” she wrung her hands. I poured myself another glass and waited in silence for her to continue. “I didn’t marry rich, but he did. If I divorce him without legitimate grounds for divorce I’ll lose half my estate.”

“So what do you want me to do?” I asked.

“I need you to follow him and get proof. My whole estate’s on the line, so you can expect to be well rewarded,” she said.

“That’s all I needed to hear,” I drained my glass again.

“He’s out playing golf now, so I brought his day planner. This way you can have an idea of his schedule,” she pulled a leather bound agenda from her purse.

I flipped through the pages to today’s date. Her husband’s messy handwriting covered the page.

“I see you’re meeting him for lunch tomorrow,” I pointed at the entry.

“No, not that I know of,” she peered at the entry.

“Meeting with wife, it says,” I insisted.

“I’m not meeting him tomorrow,” she said looking genuinely confused.

“Well, then I guess I’ll go and find out what he’ll be doing at Sand Hotel,” I said leaning back in my chair.

“You’re the expert,” she said her voice riddled with doubt. “I’d better head back and put his planner where I found it before he gets back from his game. Here’s my card, let me know if you need anything.”

She gave me her card and put the agenda back in her purse before leaving. I watched her hips sway through the sheer fabric of her white dress. The fabric was snug around her tight rear and I was sure she wasn’t wearing any panties. Absently, I imagined how she would look under her designer dress. She was probably soft and smooth, covered in all kinds of creams to make her even softer and smoother. I’ve always wanted to sleep with a rich woman and make their snooty face contort into ugly expressions of uncontrolled desire. I shook my head, pushing the images of her naked body out of my mind.

She had left her glass of whiskey untouched, so I downed it. No use letting it go to waste, even if it was the cheap shit.

Snap a couple of pictures of the cheating bastard and then cash in. If only life was always this easy.

Want more? It’s free for limited time only!!

private eye copy

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!

Medusa’s Lover – Free Erotica this Sunday, 5 August

1 Aug

It’s my birthday this Sunday. Rather than receive a gift myself, I’m going to give a gift.

Medusa’s Lover – My most recent sexy short story will be free this Sunday August 5th. Be sure to download your free copy.

lust is blind.


Just to whet your appetite here’s a little preview.


Medusa’s Lover

The mirror revealed a beautiful woman. My hair flowed in waves over my shoulders, it shone with a million tiny stars. My flawless skin coated the ample curves of my body. I hated it. Clothes served no purpose. No one that saw me survived. I let them die with a final glimpse of my untethered beauty and yet all that registered on their petrified faces was horror.


I clawed at my face, the pain searing my cheeks, but the gashes healed as fast as I created them. I screamed in frustration for the millionth time. It was no use.


The mirror was the only one in my palace I hadn’t ground into sand. One as lonely as myself needs some form of company, even if it is my odious own.


I walked through my palace resting my hands on the balustrade of my balcony. My eyes kept to the cracked and dusty floors. I avoided the horror etched on the stone statues that decorated my house. Their faces were forever imprinted in my mind. I did not need to look up to see them.


Heroes, all of them. Come to slay the monster. Me.


Only one of them had not come to slay me. His statue stood beside me.


He smiled at me, his eyes wide with surprise as his finger pulled aside his blindfold. I had turned away to admire the sunset and when I turned back he was turned to stone.


“You foolish boy,” I said. At least his face was not contorted in horror. His stone lips were shiny and worn from the kisses I would give him every night before I would go to sleep.


I wrapped by arms around him. My fingers scoured his body, lingering in the parts I used to love the most. His neck, the muscles of his back, but they were beginning to crumble at my touch. His solid frame had been reassuring when he was alive, but now I longed to touch soft flesh. Something alive.


The sea was visible from my balcony. In the valley beneath my palace I could see the city below. The sunset bathed it in an orange hue. Soon it would glow with the lights of their torches.


In the distance a figure approached my palace with determined steps. Even from this distance his sword shone through the mist that rose up from the valley. My heart raced with excitement. Another hero come to destroy me. I delighted at the prospect of my own destruction and the imminent end to my loneliness.


I observed him as he entered my expansive garden. The trees and flowers the only living thing I had touched in centuries. He edged his way under the imposing stone gate, sword drawn and muscles tensed. Sweat made his body glisten in the setting sun. He spun around, swinging his sword at the sound of rustling behind him. A small hedgehog that tried to scurry across the path froze in front of him. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. He smiled, but his crooked smile faded as he came ever nearer to my door.


I hurried down the stairs to hide behind the door. I didn’t want him to see me. I feared him not. On the contrary, I wished him to succeed.


The thick muscles of his bare legs tensed with each slow, deliberate step. He stopped to let his eyes adjust to the darkness. Like all those who came to slay me, he was a paragon of masculinity. A towering giant among men, with broad shoulders and limbs as thick as tree trunks. His sandaled footsteps fell on the floor as silently as a cat’s. It was difficult to tell where his golden skin started and where his breastplate ended. They flowed seamlessly into each other. He carried a golden Spartan shield.


“Don’t turn around,” I whispered. “If you do you can be sure it will be your death.”


He froze. A flesh statue, in the midst of a stone menagerie.


“I don’t want you to die,” I said. “I want to help you.”


“Are you going to lead me to the monster?” he asked.


“Lead you to the monster? I am the monster,” I said. My voice always put them off. They never expected a woman’s voice. They expected the shrill shrieks of a mindless beast with serpents instead of hair. I knew what they said about me in the village.


He shifted his shield slowly with the movements of a man cornered by an unpredictable and dangerous wild animal. He examined my golden reflection on his shield.


“But you’re just a woman,” he said. His posture relaxed.


“Don’t turn around,” I warned him. He stiffened again. “What did you expect?”


“Snakes for hair, demonic eyes, scaly skin, but not this,” he said.


“This?” I asked.


“You’re gorgeous. A rival to Athena herself,” he said.


I smiled. Athena’s jealousy was the very reason I suffered this horrid curse. I was happy to give my head to this man, “Listen to me carefully, hero. I do not want to hurt you. Are you listening?”


He nodded, shaking the plumes on his golden helmet.


“I’m going to walk and stand behind you. Watch me if you like in your shield. You can be sure it is not a trick. When I tell you I am ready, you will close your eyes and swing the blade round. Do you understand?” I asked.


Again, he nodded his understanding.


My bare feet glided the few steps left between us, leaving footsteps behind in the dust of crumbled statues. His muscles tensed as he watched my approach in his shield.


He was so alive. He smelled of fresh sweat and the grass he had crushed underfoot in the garden. Heat emanated from him. It had been so long since I had felt the heat of another living being. His broad chest heaved with each breath. His skin had little droplets of sweat. Did I even remember what skin felt like?


I reached to touch him. One last taste. Death would shortly follow.


More here.

Medusa’s Lover Cover

30 Jul

I’m excited about my next project, so I thought I’d share the upcoming cover and hear you thoughts on it. It should be live in the Kindle Store soon! Be sure to check it out!

I have used Marcus Ranum‘s photography, many thanks to him!

a romance with medusa. will that end in anything but death or only in many tiny little deaths?

Are eBooks Sexy?

28 May

When I see a man with a dog-eared copy of Animal Farm or 1984, I confess to getting a little wet and warm. The blood rushes through my body and causes pulsations in my core. I usually spot the book before the man, so my arousal sometimes leaves my body feeling very confused. Confusion is fun, though. I’m confused about my sexuality, but that makes the world twice as sexual for me.

gotta be careful with all that hotness in the library.

eBooks are great. You can carry a library in your pocket and leave plenty of space in your pants for vibrators and other toys. They feel slick and clean. In the end, reading an eBook is like masturbating. It gets you where you need to go, without much hassle. A paper book on the other hand, is something that you can touch and caress and bend into better positions. You can get dirty with a paper book in a way that you can’t with an eReader. If you turn a page with your fingers slick with arousal, the paper is forever marked with your loving caress.

On the other hand, if you get you’re eReader wet with your juices, you can just wipe it off.

Maybe an eReader is better after all…

And you my dear sexy readers, what say you?


9 May

I don’t believe in omens, he told himself.

Standing at the gate he watched airplane after airplane land, barely a minute separating each landing. And yet he had stood here staring for over an hour and nothing had gone wrong.

He shuddered. That only increased the chance that the next one would crash. One in a million planes crashed, right? How many had landed across the globe while he stood here? Which one would be number one million?

That’s not how statistics work, he reminded himself.

It didn’t help. The thought of a sky crowded with tons of titanium traveling through clouds at several hundred miles per hour still gave him goosebumps.

Of course, there were professionals in charge with hi-tech equipment and years of training. But they must have had a first time. The is no room for ‘oops’. And what if they had a fight with their wife the night before? Got drunk? What if his child was just run over by a Polish person and he had to give landing instructions to a LOT aircraft?

Easy, he steadied himself. They had systems for this kind of thing. Rules and regulations. He deliberately guided his thought away from how they dealt with rules and regulations where he worked.

A woman screamed. He spun to witness the commotion at the gate. Her hand was gripped to her breast and her face was pale, but a weak laughter escaped her.

“A bird,” blushing, she explained to the people’s bewildered glances. “It just flew right into the window. Smash! I can’t believe he didn’t break it!”

A few of the younger children darted to the window in youthful curiosity. Some dragging their parents with them.

“Eeew,” said one of them pointing out of the window. “I think its dead.”

“No, its still moving,” responded another.

“That happens sometimes after they die,” yet another.

“Isn’t it kind of dangerous to have birds flying around at the airport?” asked one of the parents.

“It is,” answered another one, sagely. “They can get sucked into the turbines and cause an airplane to crash.”

“Its nothing to worry about,” assured a uniformed cabin attendant. It was said with such practical ease and confidence, it must have been a phrase he needed to perfect to graduate to flight attendant. “I’ll just quickly ring up the clean up crew.”

Leaving the passengers to peer curiously at the spasming bird he walked briskly off.

He marveled at the perfect haircut and impossibly close shave of the flight attendant, calling to mind an image of a Thunderbird doll. A dead, inanimate object. He observed the steward’s jaw closely as announced that boarding had now commenced for business class passengers.

Good thing I don’t believe in omens, he thought.

Midnight Seductions – A Hot Wheels Erotica Series

2 May

Truckers, we all imagine them as the manly men, but they aren’t all like that. Some are dainty, playful, sexual, and female. Rosie loves meeting new people, she gives herself to them with passion, she just never wants to see them again. The thrill of the last time she makes love with them is an addiction. For those too shy to download the sample, here is the preview: Continue reading

My Best Friend’s Valentine

13 Apr

This new book is sizzling! For those to shy to open it on Amazon to check out the preview, I’ll post it here, especially for you: Continue reading

Chastity: The most unnatural of the sexual perversions

12 Apr

” Chastity: The most unnatural of the sexual perversions. ”

Aldous Huxley

Priests, we mostly imagine them as old frail men, imparting wisdom or abusing children, but that’s where we are wrong. Well, about the old and frail part anyway.

A healthy lifestyle of moderation will do wonders for a young man and young men are religious sometimes too. I must say, there isn’t much that draws my attention so much as a youthful, virile priest. Granted, the forbidden aspect of their chastity is certainly alluring. Who doesn’t like a little taboo? I certainly do. I could take taboo all night, but I digress.

At a recent wedding, (not my own, I’m still single. 😉  ) I came across two priests of my own age. They were handsome and athletic. I imagine they did plenty of sports to work off that extra steam. That was it. That pent up energy within them, that is what was alluring. The self control they exercised as the skimpily clad young women (myself included) got more drunk as the night wore on. As your thin gossamer dresses became soaked from our dancing. They danced with us and they could dance. Hours of boredom, not spent chasing after women or indulging in other vices, focused on improving their dancing. I pressed my hips against on of them and he must have felt my heartbeat racing after hours of dancing. In his eyes I saw it. He was aware that my heart raced just a little faster at the thrill of his touch.

So there you have it. Chastity is his perversion, deriving pleasure by depriving me. How cruel. How very cruel.

I have my own secret to confess. This whole blog post was also an excuse to use a quote of one of my favorite authors, Aldous Huxley. 😀

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