Monday, October 22, 2018

Trash, Creeps, and Asking for It

Sooo, I NEVER want to ever hear anyone say shit like a woman was asking to be harassed or assaulted because of what she wears or how she looks. I also NEVER want to hear about how women need to ridiculously adjust their actions to make themselves safe or avoid danger.

Tonight, I spent hours cleaning out my pantry. At 8:30, I went to throw the massive amounts of trash living in the same place for 22 years inevitably builds up. There was a creepy guy standing outside by the dumpsters. Just standing there. Not smoking. Not seeming to be waiting for someone. Just standing in the shadows next to the place I had to go.

So, trying to not blow the situation out of proportion despite the creepy vibes, I just grab the two over-stuffed bags of trash over my shoulders and give him as wide a berth as possible.

“Big bags for such a little girl.”

Not exactly a pickup line, but still giving me even more creepy vibes. “Yep.” I quickly throw my bags into the dumpsters and turn around, painfully aware that I have six more bags of trash waiting for me in front of my apartment door. I slip my keys between my knuckles and rush for the door.

I see my neighbors wave at me as they get out of their car. I wave back before heading to my apartment, where I stare at the bags of trash I still need to bring down to the dumpsters.

I hear a knock on my door. I see my neighbor there with her partner and she asks me to do her a favor and let her son take my trash down to the dumpsters. Then she tells me that the reason she’d waved was because the creepy man had started to follow behind me.

It was 8:30 in my apartment parking lot. I was in my dad’s old boxers, an old puffy ski jacket, a scrunchy, and not a bit of makeup, not even lipgloss. I’m covered in three-months of leg hair and twenty-two years’ worth of dust, carrying literal trash. And I needed my neighbors, their son, and keys tucked like makeshift brass knuckles to feel safe in my own home.

What’s worse is that now I have to wonder what the guy was doing there. Has he noticed me taking out the trash everyday for a week? Will he be there tomorrow?

No one asks for this. No one wants this. That’s the exact point the women in your life are trying to make: these creeps are not waiting to be asked. They are not asking. That’s precisely what makes them creeps. And it doesn’t really matter what we wear or do, we have to live in a world where, some days, it collectively takes neighbors, their sons, and weaponized keys to throw your trash.

Sunday, October 7, 2018

A Very BOOkish Halloween Treat Facebook Event

Looking for some Halloween romance? 

Come join us for this decadently spooky book event. Exclusive stories, including a special seasonal story from me. More than 20 authors. An online scavenger hunt with an incredible prize basket.

I'll be talking about my novel Open Season at 4:30pm CST on Oct 15. Hope to see you there!

Thursday, October 4, 2018

More Than One Way to Go Bump in the Night - Making the Strange & Spooky Sexy

It's that time of year again and, if you're looking for something to fill you with a titillating case of the shivers, here are some of my happy Halloween Donovan's Door and Faere Trade stories, some for sale and some for free:

Take a little taste of space in my novella that explores what it's like to live and love as an "other" in America with Juli, Kyle, & Dona in "Open Season."
Sometimes really it sucks being female! Please check out my feminist, space alien novella from Less Than Three Press!
And Listen to an Excerpt
- The passion in Kyle’s eyes, the fire of it in his gaze, gives Juli a thrill even as he stands frozen in front of her. Sliding her hand past his shoulder, her wrist touches his skin. Flesh to flesh, she looks at the contrast between them. The way hers, a swirl of colors like an oil slick, looks against his. The feel of her skin, thicker but smoother, against his more delicate flesh, covered in hair—some thick and coarse, others barely there like fine down—and bumps and scars. While he likes to trace the color patterns of her skin, painting her with his fingers, learning the art of her, she likes to read his past in every mark on his body. 

Join some of my cast from my book Open Season in this FREE fun holiday short story, "Space 4 All"
Halloween can be hard when it feels like you can't hide behind a costume. For Pixiso Dona Miles, getting into the spirit of the season seems impossible when it feels like all anyone sees is her alien features. But, with the help of her girlfriend, Betsy Neilsen, maybe she can find a way to have a very happy Halloween! 
Betsy loves Halloween. When you grow up feeling ordinary, there’s something thrilling about being able to put on a costume and become magical. This day gives everyone the space to forget who they are and become whoever and whatever they want to be. And she knows that Dona never really got that as a child. Betsy remembers being horrified when she heard that Dona’s family never celebrate the holiday. She supposes that, as extraterrestrials, when you live your life as something extraordinary, dressing up as ghosts and witches and devils must seem lame, at best, and—considering all the little green men costumes she’d seen as a child—offensive, at worst.

Gear up for some sexy, superhero role play with Danielle & Chris in "Make Me Believe."
Please check out my story in Riverdale Avenue Books' anthology that proves no one knows how to play better than nerds!
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- Danielle bit her lip. Hmmm. “What if,” she mused as she looked about his room, looking for some kind of inspiration. 

Her eyes lit up as she noticed his screensaver had switched to a brightly colored image of some comic heroine. The buff and busty beauty stood tits-out and confident, ready to take on the world. 

“If I had superpowers,” she asked idly, not entirely sure where she was going with this, “what ones would you give me?”

He gave a snort as he pushed up his glasses, giving her a strange, assessing look over his lenses. “Really?” he asked, looking her up and down.

“Yeah,” she nodded. “C’mon,” she encouraged, holding her breath, just hoping that he’d play along, “role play with me.”

Lose yourself in a costume in my political, burlesque performance story with Cadence & Hallie in "Rise & Shine."
Please check out my LGBTQ+ burlesque erotica story, “Rise or Shine” in this anthology that captures womanhood & women on stage & screen in all their beautiful, wonderful glory from Supposed Crimes!
Available Now On
- But, since the election, the Burle-Q girls had been performing as The Risen, sexy Rosen-supporting zombies who shimmy and shamble aimlessly over the stage losing limbs and clothes throughout the dance. A real crowd pleaser.
Stripped of my usual conservative suit or Stepford sweater set, I hardly look like myself. With ample cleavage showing and my long legs exposed by the torn “We Shall Rise” dress, the woman I’d been earlier that day—the prim and proper campaign aide—all but disappeared. With the dark wig and heavy makeup, I couldn’t recognize myself at all.
I adjust my props—a detachable zombie arm and breast—and rush out of the dressing room to the stage wings.
Elin hands out mic packs and says in a hushed whisper, “Good luck, girls, knock ‘em dead.”

Take a peek into the strange and see what looks back in my FREE short story, "Wishing Well."
Please check out my spooky short story from Enchanted Conversation, that gives you a peek at the strange kind of kid I was growing up. And remember to always watch what you wish.
Available Now In
It would have a tail, she decided, and fins—scaly and razor-sharp. Its slick, slimy body would flick quick and impatient around the well’s rounded walls, waiting. But for what? she wondered. Was it trapped in the crumbling stone or just hiding, safe in the cool shelter of shadows, out of the grey-skied humidity that held her hostage in this heavy anticipation she begged would break?

Make some magic with Ben Hayato, from my novel Show Me, Sir, in my story "Alter Ego" 
“So what are you going to do?” he asked, nodding to her as she shuffled the deck. “Do I pick a card, any card?”

With a flick of her hands, she shuffled the rest of the cards. “We’re going to play a game.” 
She flipped the top card in the deck and flashed the eight of hearts. “Basic high card, low card,” she said. “Beat my card,” she said, flipping the next to reveal the jack of spades, “and I’ll take something off.”

He swallowed hard as his gaze shifted south. He liked those rules. “And if I don’t?” he asked.

“Then you do,” she answered simply.

That was a magic trick?

Looking at her, sitting cross-legged across from him, her soft thighs parted and her posture welcoming. 

Yeah, maybe it was a kind of magic. 

Be haunted by my succubus-inspired story with Eli, Jame, & Marisol in "Base & Vile Things."
“Tell me.” Her voice, hoarse and hushed, whispered into the sightless, scopeless space Eli no longer recognized as his room. Without his glasses, the witching hour had warped his pitch-black bedroom, distorting the familiar shapes and scales into strange shades of themselves.

“Say it.” Her tone tightened as he felt Her lean in closer. Her hot breath felt wet as it fluttered against his shivering skin. He bit his lip to seal the words back, blood touching his tongue sharp and metallic like a sacrifice.

He wouldn’t say it. Couldn’t.

Lord knew, he shouldn’t.

“I can make you,” She murmured with a biting sweetness that sunk sharp as the nails that scratched and scored his scalp. “You know I can.”

Utterly unwillingly, he loved Her.

Grapple with ghosts from the past with Mac & San in "The Echos of Impacts."
Mac found San undeniably beautiful, from head to toe. But there were places on her body—along her upper arms and shoulders, snaking up her thighs and hips, even over the bridges of her feet—that felt off limits to him, where red scars scoured her skin in intricate patterns like delicately woven barbed wire. Most of the time, he didn’t think about them. But, the moment he touched them or looked at them too long, his thoughts felt caught.

And it wasn’t as if they made her less attractive. On the contrary. Everything about them, from the sight and feel of them—even just knowing they existed, so often hidden beneath her clothes—almost seemed to call to him. 

Which scared him.“Do they hurt?”

She shrugged, causing her shoulder to touch his fingers. He felt the connection like an icy shock. “Power like that lingers.” She said it so nonchalantly.

He shook his head. “So you just live with the pain?”

Her scoff held centuries. “Doesn’t everyone?”

Explore a side of Adoribull in my Dragon Age fanfics "What You Want of Me" and "Watch Words."
The Iron Bull felt more than saw Dorian step closer. He peered up at the man who stood tall near the bed. The perspective from below was weird and made him feel more than a little uneasy. “It’s a simple question, Bull.” The mage smiled sadly as he touched the Bull’s beard roughened cheek, lifting his face up gently and straightening his spine until they looked at each other eye-to-eye. He gave him a pointed look. “Don’t tell me you’ve never thought about me touching you.” Dorian let his hand slide down over the Bull’s chest, brushing over his nipples. “My hands on your body.” His voice lowered as his fingers dipped low to stroke his thigh. “The taste of you on my tongue.”

Or take a twisted dive into my Disney fanfic "Anything" that explores what I think happens after Tiana's happily ever after.
No one had told her, while Tiana was busy building her fairytale—with her fancy restaurant, her handsome prince, and her dreams and hard work—that anything included a lot of things. Not all of which were what you’d wished for.
So here she was. Rich. Successful. In a dress not even her talented seamstress mother could have dreamed of. Skulking around the cemetery during the witching hour.
Where anything can happen.

Or discover my dark Disney fanfic "A Life Lived" that imagines what happens to Belle after her storybook tale ends.
She wasn’t a princess. Didn’t want to be a princess.

Maybe everyone was right, maybe she was odd. But she didn’t want this. Didn’t want any of it. Didn’t want to be kept in this castle while people twisted up her hair and dressed her up like a doll. 

And still, all that would still be tolerable, would have been worth getting through, if she’d still had her Beast. If she’d still had the one who'd marveled at the world like he were meeting it for the first time. Whose curiosity had sparked her own. Who made life feel new again. There was so very little she wouldn’t put up with for that.

But, somewhere in the loss of the spell, while her Beast became a man, he’d changed.

And, as always, I hope you enjoy and have a holiday Halloween!

Find even more great reads and Put Your Money Where Your Orgasm Is!

Also, find out how you can support me and collaborate with me on my Patreon Page!

Saturday, September 22, 2018

Kinksters at Play - Kink Connection

My book "Kinksters at Play" from Deep Desires Press is out now. Hear me talk about how kink cannot be contained to single spaces. It’s part of who we are and how we see the world. And, of course, for better or worse, how the world sees us.

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Kinksters call it play for a reason. Come have some fun!

Life can make love hard, especially in the kink community. Follow an eclectic, kinky ensemble, through a series of interwoven stories, as they struggle to put a little more play into their lives.

Especially when the marriage between Kat and Peter Richards starts to fall apart. It’ll take this community of kinksters to bring them back together again. After four years of marriage, Kat and her husband’s relationship seems so…nice. Not bad. Just average, ordinary. Nice. They haven’t played in forever and she desperately misses it. She wonders if they’ve lost their spark and worries her happily ever after came at the cost of her sex life.

Peter will need the help of their friends—from an exhibitionist learning to reconnect with her body and appreciate being looked at again, to an exhausted, off-duty cop having a rough night with an unexpected partner, to a Little struggling to keep her roleplay fantasy fresh against the toll of reality’s ticking clock—to remember that, with trust, communication, and the right partners, play can make life and love so much better.

Friday, September 21, 2018

How We Treat a Touch

"Perhaps some # MeToo’d men and their defenders also believe that their alleged crimes were minor too, if they were crimes at all. At least, they were too minor to warrant anything so severe as an admission of guilt, or an apology, or a proposed commitment to self-betterment — let alone professional or criminal consequences. They’ve pitted their pain from being accused directly against the pain of the women accusing them, and it’s clear whose pain we’re expected to care about more. 'I feel sorry for a lot of these men,' wrote Michelle Goldberg in the New York Times, 'but I don’t think they feel sorry for women, or think about women’s experience much at all.' Put another way, by writer Heather Havrilesky: '[C]ruel men believe they deserve redemption and eventual exaltation simply because they've suffered. Imagine if women believed that. Imagine if a woman's suffering were even a passing concern.' ”
- Shannon Keating "We Prioritize Boys' Suffering At Girls' Expense"

I watched a video this morning with female republicans who support Kavanaugh and all they could talk about was how good his reputation is and how, even if he did do what he's accused of, it's not a big deal.

How "there was maybe a touch. Can we, really? Thirty-six years later and she's still stuck on that?"

How he was just a poor "seventeen-year-old boy with testosterone running high. Tell me what boy hasn't done this in high school."

And how "maybe at that moment, she liked him and he didn't pay attention to her afterward and he went out with other girls and she got bitter."

My god.

Logically, it's not a surprise that there are women who think this way--lord knows, I've met more than my share--but it is always a punch to the gut. The fact that they have so much more sympathy for the men being called to task for their bad behavior than the women who suffered at the hands of it. That the inconvenience of being asked to take some personal responsibility so outweighs the pain and violation of victims.

They don't even really deny that he did this. A little lip service. But mostly they're worried that "someone's going to destroy your life because somewhere, at some party [...] you touched somebody the way you're not supposed to." For god's sake, he's being accused of trying to muffle and drown out her screams as he holds her down and tries to tear off her clothes. What kind of boys went to your high school?

More importantly, exactly what kind of boys are you raising and sending off to high school?

Wednesday, September 19, 2018

Have You No Decency, Sir? - The Ugliness of Uncontrollable Male Passion

Mark Judge is such a despicable human being, it's hard to pick out exactly which quote of this piece by Amanda Arnold in The CutKavanaugh’s Alleged Accomplice Once Praised ‘Uncontrollable Male Passion,’ to use to depict that. 

Is it: “There’s also that ambiguous middle ground, where the woman seems interested and indicates, whether verbally or not, that the man needs to prove himself to her [...] And if that man is any kind of man, he’ll allow himself the awesome power, the wonderful beauty, of uncontrollable male passion.”

Or: “Oh for the days when president George W. Bush gave his wife Laura a loving but firm pat on the backside in public [...] The man knew who was boss.”

No, I think, as a proud coffee-drinking smut-seller who regularly wears lingerie as everyday outer wear, I'm going to go with: “Women who dress like prostitutes are also sending out signals [...] The signal is not that they should be raped. But if a posture while drinking coffee is indicative of the soul and personality within, than so is marching down the street in your underwear.”

Fuck you. You know what me drinking coffee says about me? I DRINK COFFEE. In the same way, the only thing my clothes say about me, in whatever state of dress I'm in, that you can be sure about, without using your words and asking me like an adult, is THAT I'M WEARING CLOTHES.

Any other assumption you make says more about you than me. And, if clothing determines whether you treat the person wearing them as a human being worthy of respect and common decency, you lack any sense of respect, common decency, or humanity.

Tuesday, September 18, 2018

For God's Sake, Control Yourself! - Fuck "Boys Will Be Boys"

“He could be any man. And here is the deeper venality of the boys-being-boys defense: It normalizes. It erases the specific details of Christine Blasey Ford’s stated recollections with the soggy mop of generalized male entitlement. What red-blooded guy, after all, its logic assumes, hasn’t done, in some way, the kinds of things Ford has described? Who, as a younger version of himself, hasn’t gotten stumble-drunk, pinned down a woman, groped her, tried to undress her, and then, when she resisted, held his hand over her mouth to muffle her screams? (‘It was drunk teenagers playing seven minutes of heaven,’ the Fox News columnist Stephen Miller tweeted, derisively.)”
- Megan Garber – The Atlantic “Brett Kavanaugh and the Revealing Logic of ‘Boys Will Be Boys’”

As an author, your work should tap into the current zeitgeist. It should resonate with what people are feeling and thinking in the moment. That’s always the goal. 

But I hate how relevant my book Open Season feels right now.

I hate that we are talking about the victimization of people like it’s a byproduct of someone else’s growth process. 

“We can’t hold [insert far too many powerful men’s names here] accountable for what they did then. That’s just how men are. They can’t control themselves in the face of the object of their desire. Boys will be boys. Do we really want to destroy a man’s life for one mistake made oh-so-long ago? If we hold these men accountable for the harm they committed, who among us will be safe?” We romanticize and glorify the idea of the persistent man, who goes after what he wants and damn the consequences, even and especially when it comes to sex and romance. As alleged witness to Ford's assault Mark Judge waxes on, saying, “There’s also that ambiguous middle ground, where the woman seems interested and indicates, whether verbally or not, that the man needs to prove himself to her [...] And if that man is any kind of man, he’ll allow himself the awesome power, the wonderful beauty, of uncontrollable male passion.”

Never mind the people who were harmed by that man's uncontrollable passion. Don’t look at how their lives were damaged because that man decided he wanted something and damn the consequences. Please, whatever you do, don’t think about how we constantly hold women and people of color accountable for all sorts of things, regardless of age or actual culpability. “Pregnant at sixteen? Well, it’s your fault for being a slut. You were raped? Well, what were you wearing at the time and how many drinks did you have and exactly what were you doing at that party in the first place?”

And look at how they talk about it. Allegedly, Kavanagh cornered Ford, held her down, made sure no one could hear her scream, and assaulted her. But “It was drunk teenagers playing seven minutes of heaven.” Seven minutes of heaven. Some adolescent game that is supposed to be about exploring unspeakable pleasure. Heaven?! 

If Ford’s experience is your definition of heaven, I’m atheist and I think you’re going to hell.

We have to change the way we talk about sex in this country. We have to stop talking about it like it’s this force beyond our control. That just because we want it, that means we have to have it. However we have to get it. Even if it’s at the expense of the people we get it from.

In my book, Open Season, I create this world where aliens exude a pheromone that drives humans’ libidos wild, that makes their passions feel…well, uncontrollable. Just to mentally play out that theory. To see, if it really would—if it really should—justify bad behavior. 

And, at the end of it, I just couldn’t see how having a “boys will be boys” attitude, how leaving victims to shoulder the burden of men's bad behavior, didn’t leave you a worse man.

Open Season is Available Now On
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Listen to an Excerpt