Friday, August 29, 2014

Flash Fiction Friday, August 29, 2014 ~ Nothing But a Real Man

Flash Fiction Friday, you guessed it!! One single inspirational photograph common to us all and a limit of 100 words. Yes, that's it and all the participating authors write whatever their muse produces. Today, I am using a good friend, another erotic author, for some inspiration, too. That's fair, and you will understand why when you meet him: Garrett Carr. That is right, ladies, him. Check out his very sexy The Garrett Carkos Files blog, too

So, please read my 100 words as they will go by way too quickly. Then, have a sashay over to all the other participating authors listed one-by-one below or just follow the link to our blog page and jump off from there to each of their posts! So have fun and don't forget to leave a comment ~ here and there. Enjoy ~  ☼ o√ ¸.¨¯`*..*˜"*°

Nothing But a Real Man
She tried, but she was bored. How did the director expect this boy to inspire her?

She needed a man; nothing but a real man would do…..Garrett Carr. Yes!

Yeahhhh, him; a man who filled a room with his attitude, a woman with his heart and his pants with……well, real womanly inspiration. Oh, God, but those photo shoots of his, the top button of his jeans open. You knew what it meant for a man to dress to the left or right. You couldn’t miss it! It was so…….

“Cut - print - that’s a wrap! You nailed it, baby!”


♥ Meet Garrett Carr, Ladies 
Yeppers, girls, that's inspiring Garrett......***sigh***

Participating Author Links

Doris O'Connor     Jorja Lovett

Raven McAllan

Dariel Raye

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with Passion

Wednesday, August 27, 2014

Thursday Tasters, August 28, 2014 ~ Taylor Savior "Silent Passions"

Thursday Tasters is a group of talented authors sharing a slice of their WIPs with you for constructive criticism. The linkie to their blogs is below and they are listed one by tasty one like delicious crumpets. Do have a quick visit and comment on their (my) hard work.

Erotically inspired by the Grimm's Fairy Tale, The Giant and the Tailor, my current work in progress is Taylor Savior. My lovers have not seen one another in ten years, since the night they found themselves lost in an exploding, volcanic passion in Room 457 at the Hotel Whitcomb. 

Aynne continues to think of that first night because she has made the long trip from San Francisco to Chicago to see Simon. Something deadly serious has come up about which Aynne needs Simon's help. Can he help her, will he help her or will he indulge himself again and plunge himself into Aynne's abundance of charms. Dunno, let's see........shhhhhhhh, here they come. 
Enjoy ~  ☼ o√ ¸.¨¯`*..*˜"*°

Read Previous Installments Here:
First    Second     Third     Fourth

Silent Passions
Feigning a confidence she did not have, Aynne rose to walk the short distance to his office entrance behind Simon’s executive assistant. The closer she came to the double door that separated the two, the more keenly aware she became of her surroundings. It was grand, opulent, elegantly decorated and appointed. The view of the Michigan River below and Chicago skyline was the perfect backdrop for the kind of philanthropic work Aynne understood Simon did for the arts, artists and musicians as well as the supporters and the community. She felt a surprising swell, a warmth of pride build for him as she moved closer to where she knew he was. It had been ten years since she had seen him…and she was afraid. Would he be unwilling to help. Would he deny their history and turn her away? Would he still be her giant and she his Fire of Truth…?

The door swung open before his assistant had a chance to open it for her. He stood back from the door just feet from her, still a giant of a man. When had she released her heart to him? Was it the moment he opened his arms clad in black leather on stage so many years ago? How had he captivated her so thoroughly? Perhaps the subtle pulse of his heartbeat in the small of his neck made her his prisoner. Did it matter?

Tight knots of anticipation unraveled slowly as the warm welcome of both his hands grasp her outstretched right hand.

“Aynne, you are still a vision of loveliness and beauty. Come in. Thank you, Ms Meriwether. Please bring us some coffee. Or would you prefer tea, Aynne?” His smile broke her heart and gave it life at the same time.

“Coffee will be fine. Thank you,” she nodded with a grateful smile to Ms. Meriwether as the assistant backed out of Simon’s office. How would she begin? How could she begin?

“Aynne, you look more beautiful than I even remember. Your work agrees with you - and the moist San Francisco climate.”

“Thank you, Simon,” she stuttered softly as she cast her eyes self-consciously to the antique rug beneath her feet. “Simon…I…ah, I…”

“We have plenty of time for the here and now. Let’s reminisce over coffee and relax. Everyone is always pulling me in a hundred directions. I rarely have a chance to just visit and enjoy the company. Besides, it has been so long.  Indulge me?”

“Of course, yes...yes, of course.” Aynne smiled shyly, raised her eyes slowly from the floor and surrendered them helplessly into his gaze.

The melodic, deep throaty resonance of his voice was irresistibly the same. It surrounded her, swallowed her; it made her weak from within. His voice brought that thought back to her once again; that and spending forever in the flames of the fire of truth - their truth. Oh, God, Aynne thought to herself as she released herself into her silent passions. She once believed a life without him would be torture, and yet, to have his kiss would surely be the death of her. 

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with Passion

Tuesday, August 26, 2014

Tantalyzing Tuesday Teasers, August 26, 2014 ~ Soaked

Tantalyzing Tuesday snaps me back into my routine. Been a lot on my plate lately plus, I have been sick with my husband out of town for 10 days and a wee Havanese pup on my hands that needed emergency neuro-surgery. Oh, the stress of it all. I am much happier with deadlines!

So, did you miss me? Been awhile. But I love flashing, teasing and tasting, so I am going to do the things I love to do and indulge myself ~ and you. The photo we each select, and they are all different, inspires the shorts we write. Now, do be a dear and have a quickie read, then visit the other participating fab authors to read their teasers. But, first, do - be - do - be - do me!  If you do, please leave me a comment. It has been soooooooo long for me.....And enjoy!

She walked into the lounge looking exactly the way she felt: wet, mean and thirsty for a dirty martini. It was pouring rain outside and she was soaked. Her long auburn locks were wet, curled framing her face, accentuating the beautiful intensity of her hazel eyes. She was pissed at all men, never mind why. And she was thirsty. She opened the door; it was so dark she stood in the doorway while her vision adjusted. Dripping wet, her dress hugged every curve of her body. There were no open seats, which pissed her off even more. She walked over to the widest spot in the crowd and leaned over the bar to order a drink from the bartender. A seated Marine stood up to offer her his stool. She appreciated the gesture and nodded. He waved at the bartender who approached.

“A dirty martini - bone dry - up with olives,” she told the bartender.

“It’s ‘Happy Hour’: two for one.”

“Better still. Bring ‘em on and keep ‘em coming until I tell you to stop.”

Her anger gave-way to interest....and hunger. She softened to the man in uniform beside her fingering his cigar.

She was soaked inside now, too. 

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  ♥ °*"˜*.✿.*˜"*°

Tuesday, August 19, 2014

Losing Robin Williams—The Dark Side of Those Who Make Us Laugh by Kristen Lamb

Screen Shot 2014-08-18 at 3.14.54 PM
Suicide. It’s a topic that’s been on most of our minds as of late. I was BROKEN when I found out about Robin Williams. It’s like this bright shining star just snuffed out, leaving only a black hole of crushing emptiness behind. I feel terrible for taking him for granted, selfishly assuming he’d always be around.
I haven’t yet cried because I’m afraid I might not stop. My fondest childhood memories involve Mork & Mindy. Growing up, I’d watch Williams’ comedic acts over and over and over, studying his timing and how he could do what he did, because to me? It was MAGIC. In fact, I can honestly say he was my earliest mentor. I learned to laugh and make others laugh, and, since home and school were living nightmares, laughter was my lifeline.
I’m no expert aside from having suicide issues in the family. Also, years ago, I suffered horrific depression after being on the phone with my father when he unexpectedly died. No one realized he had cancer until after the autopsy, because he was always making everyone laugh, always smiling and making us smile…until he was gone.
While I won’t get into a discussion regarding suicide and depression, I’d like to address some reasons many were so sideswiped when Robin Williams took his life. Obviously I can only speak from my own perspective as a humor author and chronic class clown.
Humor is Birthed From Pain
Screen Shot 2014-08-18 at 3.07.35 PM
Ever notice the high mortality rates among comedians? Self-destruction is common. One reason is that humor is an amazingly powerful defense mechanism. I switched high schools six times and was poor, thus the target of every group of Mean Girls (which come standard). In my freshman year I turned inward and fell into terrible depression. Then I learned how powerful humor could be. It could be a weapon.
The right turn of phrase could decimate an attacker.
Humor can also be body armor. Funny people use laughter to minimize pain so we can cope. Maybe we come from a background where we aren’t allowed to express hurt, pain, sorrow, disappointment, and so making jokes becomes a way of staying sane. Or maybe there is so much pain that humor is the only way to keep from overloading. This is common among police officers, soldiers, doctors, and any profession bombarded with tragedy.
Gallows humor.
Never Let Them See You Sweat
Screen Shot 2014-08-18 at 3.12.54 PM
Yep, my family, LOL.
I’ve been guilty of this (being the comedian of the family). I love making others laugh and never lose my sense of humor. When I was admitted to give birth to The Spawn, the attending nurse crashed every single vein trying to get an IV in me (until I politely asked if my mom could do it—she is an RN). The nurses missed inserting my epidural (the needle that goes into the spine) seven times. Yet, to the end and through every contraction, I had everyone laughing, even though I was in agony.
When I was 22, I finally had to have four impacted wisdom teeth removed. I couldn’t afford an oral surgeon and so the dentist gave me the anesthesia and proceeded to chisel all four teeth out of my jaw. My roommate who brought me said all she could hear from the room was the staff laughing to the point of tears. Apparently through gauze and anesthesia I was still a riot.
Laughter has been there to help me contend with the fear and pain, but this coping mechanism has a dark side.
False Assumptions
Making light of my broken nose. Hey, it was kinda funny…
I know it’s my own fault others don’t necessarily take me seriously when I’m hurting. How could they? I’m cracking jokes and making everyone happy. I’m a giver. I don’t know if life is worth living if we aren’t laughing. And if we’re going to be in pain, why not bear it with a smile? People & circumstances can take away anything but our attitude, right?
The problem is that others see that smile and might not understand that we do need help and likely aren’t going to ask for it. Or us being “funny” might make it seem we’re not in as dire of a situation.
Just ask the people who tried to get me to an ER last week when I had my first violent reaction to peanuts.
Givers love to give. Comedians live to make others laugh. We love it so much we’re often blind to when we are empty and the darkness is there to pounce when we’re at our lowest. As a community, one of the things we can all do is learn to be better at actively listening. WANA was built on this principle—WE ARE NOT ALONE.
I’ve been doing this myself. Talk less, listen more. Joke less, hear more, be honest. Listen for subtext. If we ask someone, “How are you today?” at least stick around long enough for an answer. Ask the next question.
Lack of Boundaries and Rest
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I find it interesting how the corporate world expects to be able to reach us 24/7. Meetings and “work” creep into our Saturdays and even Sundays. But how would our job feel if we showed up with our kids to work? What if we read a novel or took a nap?
Oh, what? No quid pro quo?
My husband gets business calls before we are even awake. 99% of the time, it’s over matters that could wait. We’re interrupted at dinner, on weekends, during church. When are we going to say NO? I now turn off my phone on weekends. I just…can’t.
Most of us—even the funny folks—are running around on fumes. This is when depression sets in even if it isn’t clinical. Humans were not designed to run fill tilt 24 hours a day. Those of us with a gift for making others laugh likely just don’t show symptoms as early or at all. A lot of us “don’t want to bother” anyone.
Also, a lot of us jokesters have set up expectations in others that we will always make them smile. When we can no longer do that—when we are too spent or hurting—we retreat. We don’t want to disappoint.
Situational Awareness—Take It To H.A.R.T.
Image via Flickr Creative Commons. Bansky's "Peaceful hearts Doctor" courtesy of Eva Blue.
Image via Flickr Creative Commons. Bansky’s “Peaceful hearts Doctor” courtesy of Eva Blue.
Are we hurting, alone, resentful, or tense? In this go-go-go-go life, we should be mindful to stop. Take a break so we can check our condition. We wouldn’t drive a car and ignore red lights flashing. CHECK ENGINE. FUEL LOW. NEED AIR. Why do we do this to ourselves? And for the other funny folks out there, joking about the CHECK ENGINE light is no laughing matter.
This is why I’m so tremendously grateful for all you. I might hurt, but I’m never alone and you guys keep me company so a lot less tense.
The hurting? Yeah. Covered in hives and want to scrape off my skin with a carrot peeler (go to doctor in an hour). Resentful? Benadryl kinda making me resent everything, including sounds, light and those annoying air particles that insist touching me. PERSONAL SPACE! And bugs farting. How are the spiders and fruit flies so flatulent?
What are your thoughts?
Do you do tend to minimize by joking? Maybe laugh off things you shouldn’t? Do you retreat if you can’t be entertaining? Do you feel desensitized to pain because of coping so long with humor? Do you have friends of family who are like this? Maybe that you need to watch more carefully?
I miss Robin Williams. The world is a far darker place without him. I hope he’s somewhere he can see how much we all loved him and how devastated we are to be without him.
 Please see the original article on Kristen Lamb's Blog
"What Dreams May Come"
I have never been moved to tears by anyone’s death outside my family, and even then, some of those didn’t break my heart; I am even looking forward to some of my relatives embracing the ‘Big Chill’. But, Robin? Something died inside me, too, when he died. I don’t focus on, nor do I discuss, his depression or refer to his death as suicide because I would be effected just as profoundly, no matter the cause of his death. I am Robin’s age. When he flew in as Mork and discovered life on Earth, I was discovering my life, too. He was funny, irreverent, inexperienced in the ways of we Earthlings. Hey, me too! We found our way together. He was a roller coaster ride and I had the time of my life with him. I saw every one of his movies and own most of them. I cannot say that about other entertainers. He was like a brother from another mother, perhaps even another planet, that I would stand in the corner gossiping with about other family members, laughing at their expense, our fodder for life. His death moved me to tears, sobbing in fact, and I am not embarrassed to admit it. We grew up together and I will miss him. His star burns a little brighter at night, mine a little dimmer, and I am saddened by his death, saddened he won't be joining me on the rest of our journey together. The ride for him is over. If you have never seen his movie “What Dreams May Come” do so. 

It is the search we all live daily.

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Thursday, August 7, 2014

Thursday Tasters, August 7, 2014 ~ Taylor Savior "The Past and Future Collide"

Thursday Taster brings to us a yummy taster from one of my current works-in-progress commissioned for Decadent Publishing, Taylor Savior. It is erotically inspired by the Grimm's Fairy Tale, The Giant and the Tailor. My lovers have not seen one another in ten years, since the night they found themselves lost in an exploding, volcanic passion in Room 457 at the Hotel Whitcomb. She continues to think of that first night

Something has brought Aynne to Chicago; something has brought Aynne to Simon. Will he see her and if he does, will he remember her? Let me turn the page and let's see. Oh, she is thinking as she waits to see Simon. Shhhhhhh, let's see if the years will be kind.

Enjoy ~ o√ ¸.¨¯`*..*˜"*°  

"The Past and the Future Collide"

Simon slipped the tiny strap off of her other shoulder and the gown, heavy in a satin eagerness, slipped to the floor and settled around her feet in a fluid puddle of white innocence. She stood before him, nervous, but boldly faced his hunger with a hunger of her own. She wore nothing but a laced thong and white satin heeled slippers. He ran his hand down the sheer elegance of her arm to her hand and helped her step out of the gathered satin surrounding her feet.

“Don’t move,” he smiled at her as he began to remove his black tux. He dropped each cast off article on the floor next to Aynne’s gown. Their eyes, locked in a magnetic fiery hold, swam in a pool of shared molten desire. Simon spoke to Aynne as he continued to undress.

We cannot deny the strength of our desires,
For we are the ones who seek the pleasure of the truth
And when our bodies burn for one another
We cannot turn away,
But fly into the center of the heat
For if we are burned, it will be because we sought
All that was real and strong and good
Because we knew the power of attraction and how we felt
As our flesh grew and yearned as one
So do not fear that which we know is special
And do not turn or run from lust or love so pure and true
That would deny the essence of our beings
And keep us from the fire of truth we build

"I wrote that for you. I didn’t know it at the time, but I have never recited that passage to anyone before you, ever. You are my Fire of Truth, Miss Aynne Taylor, and I am your giant.”
*                    *                  *                  *    
Aynne sat in the opulent waiting room lost in the thoughts of the two of them that long ago night. She fell hopelessly in love with him in that moment and remained in love with him still. No one she ever met since that symphony night ever moved her in the way that he moved her. No one touched her in the same overwhelming way. She never lost herself in anyone’s embrace before or since she met Simon. He was her Fire of Truth and even after all these years, she burned for him still.

“Ms. Taylor, Mr. D’Istafrio will see you now.”

And with those few words, Aynne’s past collided with her future.

Participating Author Links

Don Abdul       Gemma Parkes       Linda Hamonou 

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