Friday, January 30, 2015

Flash Fiction Friday, 30 January 2015 ~ Man Up #amwriting #MMlove @SexyMuffyWilson

Flash Fiction Friday, and I am finally up. We, I am not alone. Have a quick 100 word read based upon the photo below and leave a comment if you feel so inclined. I would appreciate it. Then saunter over and visit all the other participating authors and see what they wrote based upon the same photo.

Enjoy ~  ☼ o√ ¸.¨¯`*..*˜"*° 
Man Up
He did not know the bar he went into the night before was a gay bar—one of the most famous gay bars in Palm Springs—but it was.

He did not know he would drink too much, but he did—way, way too much.

He did not know he could have so much fun with a bunch of men that did not involve football—but he did.

He did not know he would wake up in another man’s bed with him in it—but he did.

He could never have known how much he enjoyed himself—but he did—a lot.

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Thursday, January 29, 2015

Something Wicked by Carol Oates ~ Available ***Now***

by Carol Oates
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Infected by the vampire virus on the streets of Dublin in 1886, the search for a cure brought Henry Clayton to London and to the brink of madness. Salvation and friendship arrived in the form of Dougal, an immortal Highlander with a devilish sense of humor and a love of life.

Amidst turmoil in vampire society, Henry returns to modern day Dublin. The Circle, a cult determined to awaken their Celtic blood god, the first vampire, is once again active.

When Henry meets a young American woman who sees past his human pretense, he fears exposure. However, his fear is overshadowed by curiosity. What is the source of the strange energy between them? Why are vampires stalking her? Determined to find answers, Henry takes Ari into his home and under his protection.

As their connection grows, Henry begins to suspect Ari isn't what she claims to be. Their shared history may hold the answers to his uncontrollable bouts of rage and thirst. Perhaps, even a cure for his wicked blood.

19th century

“It’s not very inventive.” The Scot caught up to me.

“I beg your pardon.”

“No need for begging, brother, I give it freely.” He chuckled at his own ridiculous joke. “The name, The Leather Apron” He rolled his eyes and waved his fingers by his head in a gesture I felt sure meant to insinuate fright, but came nearer to emulating a fit of some sort. “Well, aprons don’t exactly instill terror, eh?” 

I noticed the intensity of his accent fluctuated, indicating he had probably travelled extensively outside his homeland. 

“How about The Ripper—‘Jack the Ripper’?”

I spared him a sidelong glance in question and he scratched his temple. 

“I knew a man named Jamie once, well hardly more than a boy really, but a big bugger. Legs as thick as tree trunks and a face that looked like his mother dropped him a few times. Anyway, when he swung a sword, sure it’d nearly cut men in two. They called him The Ripper.”

“So why not ‘Jamie the Ripper’?”

“Och, we’re in England. A good English name for an English madman.”

I flinched at his insult, but he didn’t appear to notice. “So what happened to The Ripper?”

“I killed him.” 

I hummed thoughtfully. “The Ripper got ripped.”

“So, where are we going?” enquired my new acquaintance, appearing suddenly anxious for a shift in the direction of our conversation. 

“We are going nowhere,” I answered flatly.

A weathered preacher stood at the junction of the Whitechapel high street, half-crazed and hollering at the top of his lungs to a rag tag captive audience. He called on them to repent and return to God, lest they be struck down for their sins.

I chuckled darkly. Now I was doing God’s work.

The preacher’s glassy eyes grazed across the two mysterious, beautiful gentlemen passing by his improvised pulpit. He heart stuttered out an uneven beat. By the sound of it, the man would be dead before the week was out—a blockage of some sort, preventing steady blood flow.

“Keep your pretty speeches, old man. Own the salvation of your soul before mine. He has already struck me down and I will rage against His damnation until the heavens burn and He feels the heat of the fire He cast me into.” The perfect vision of a tiny child’s hand dripping blood fortified my whispered vow, too low for the preacher to hear.

“How do you move?” The other vampire asked curiously, his eyes narrowed briefly, all joviality suddenly gone.

“I beg your pardon, sir?”

“That weight you wear around your neck like chains.”

I pursed my lips and continued walking. He was persistent—I had to give him that—and almost childlike in his enthusiasm, albeit a naughty child. I couldn’t help wondering what his story was.

With no warning or explanation, I experienced a pressure at my breastbone, as though a hand pressed over my chest. My own covered the curious warmth. I experienced the strangest sensation of being observed, of someone staring at the back of my head. I turned, searching. However, as quickly as it manifested, the sensation vanished and the only thing I felt was the London chill settling deep into my bones.

“I live a good distance west,” I told the vampire. “Keep up or I will leave you behind.”

“Nae problem. I’m Dougal, by the way.”

Carol Oates came into the world on Christmas morning, in an elevator. Raised just across the street from the childhood home of Bram Stoker, author of Dracula, it was only a matter of time before Carol’s love of all things supernatural would emerge. 

She began experimenting with fiction at school and keeps the notebook containing her first unpublished novel in her desk drawer. Over three decades later, all her stories still begin life scrawled on paper. 

When not writing, Carol can be found exploring history, old buildings, castles, and tombs.

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A Taste of Thursday, 29 January 2015 ~ The Fear of Knowing #iamwriting #writing #multiculturallove

A Taste of Thursday begins and ends with you. And a little slice of Heaven from my current WIP, Moonbeams of Unintended Consequences. As you know, the little girl born to Simon and Jordan after that soulful sexy night a decade earlier is dying and requires a live organ donor.

Let's see what happens today. And when you are done reading my short excerpt, have a dip in the prurient pools of my writing partners and see what they are offering up for your amusement. They are listed all over via the linkies and below. I am sure the water is sinfully sexy, wet, and warm. 

Enjoy ~  ☼ o√ ¸.¨¯`*..*˜"*° 

The Fear of Knowing

“Simon, I am so impressed by your children. They seem so…so…”
“Well, yes, I supposed so.”
“May I fix you a drink?”
“Yes, please. Whatever you are having is fine.”
“How about the sweet pleasures of a Southern Comfort Manhattan?”
“Sounds delicious, thank you.”
“That’s Talia.”
“Pardon me?”
“Talia. It is because of Talia that the children are so well-adjusted. She prepared them for her death so it came as no surprise to them. She helped them treasure every moment they had left to share. They rarely bickered or fought. It was the quality of her life she wanted to make sure they remembered, not that she was ill and dying. So, they talk about her comfortably and lovingly. There are a few tears, but mostly happiness that we had her for as long as we did. We cherished our second chance with her when she went into remission the first time.”
“She sounds like a remarkable woman, Simon. You were a very lucky man; some would say wealthy man.”
“Yes, Jordan. I know that and I am still. I have four beautiful children who enrich my life daily.”
“Four…? Of course, Lily! I am not used to thinking in terms of a ‘we’”
“I am just getting used to it myself. Here, try this.”
“Oh, my. That is delicious, Simon. Something tells me these can sneak up on a girl.”
“And a guy, Jordan! Definitely, two’s the limit. Is the guest house comfortable? Do you need anything?”
“It is wonderful, Simon, very generous of you. And Lily loved all the stuffed animals in her bedroom. That was so thoughtful of you.”
“Oh, that was not me. It was Lianna. She didn’t want Lily to be afraid so far from home and so sick. So she decided to share her favorite stuffed animals with Lily so she isn’t afraid or won’t have nightmares.”
“What a beautiful child. That is so thoughtful and unselfish.”
“Please, don’t get the idea these kids are little saints. They do their share of sinning!”
“That’s funny! I guess they all do.”
Simon, right then, decided to tell Jordan his news about their plans for the following day. They would have to cut short their visit to the Shedd Aquarium and head over to the hospital early. Everything had been moved up an hour. They were scheduled for Lily’s genome testing at three o’clock and to see his doctor at four.
“That’s a whole day early, Simon. That cannot be good news. I am not ready. I can’t face the results. Results. Did you talk to him? Did he tell you, because if he did, please tell me now.”
“No, Jordan. I didn’t talk to him. Ms Meriwether called me about the rescheduling. But this is a good thing, Jordan. We can make our plans and any arrangements sooner. Please, don’t worry. This is a good thing, for us and for Lily. The sooner we know, the sooner we can help Lily.”
© Muffy Wilson

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Wednesday, January 28, 2015

Picspiration ~ 28 January 2015 ~ The Burning Night #iamwriting #crime

This is a first for me! So join me and read my first submission in a group called Daily  Picspiration. Every week the group admin distributes different photos (pictures) of inspiration = Picspiration to the group of participating writers. We each have a rotational day and mine is today! So The deal is, you can pick either one of the photos or use them both to build a story around. Today, I am using both photos which inspired me to write The Burning Night. I hope you enjoy it even though it is a tad dark for me. When you are through, please leave me a comment. This is my first time, so please be kind.....

Here are the photo inspirations. I used both. 
Enjoy ~  ☼ o√ ¸.¨¯`*..*˜"*°

The Burning Night
The burning flare illuminated her front yard with an ethereal hazy rose-colored glow. When Wallace rounded the corner in her Peugeot, she saw it and all the yellow tape.  Her blood pressure rocketed as panicked alarms gripped her heart.

I’m late!

Her sixteen year old daughter was home alone every day after cheerleading practice for two hours before she returned from work. She screeched to a blood-curdling halt at the first yellow taped line, jammed the car in park, and flew out of the front seat, the engine still purring. A uniformed flatfoot tried to stop her but neither he nor anyone else was going to stop the tsunami that was her fear driving her to the front door.

“I live here! My daughter…where’s my daughter?!”

“Lady, stop. I need to see some I.D.”

“Fuck you! Where’s my daughter?!


“My purse’s on the front seat. Help yourself! Where’s my daughter, Goddammit?!”

A giant of a man emerged from her house, stood in the doorway and blocked out the light behind him.

“Let her go.”

The copper raised the yellow tape that separated the world from the insanity that consumed what was once her home. She ran up the path, through the purity of the afternoon snowfall and past the flare burning to a quiet end. The goliath grabbed her shoulders and told her she couldn’t go inside, it was a crime scene. Forensic and crime scene techs brushed past them, both in and out in a flurry carrying brown paper bags, tackle boxes of chemicals, brushes, tape and the tools of their trade.

Wallace crumbled into his arms as he caught her descent under the weight of the news. They didn’t know about her daughter, they couldn’t find her. Her laptop was on in a chat room; they had taken it to the tech types that would scour it for clues and the history of her Internet travels. He told her all this as he walked her into the living room and sat her in her wing backed over-stuffed easy chair by the fireplace, still aglow with white-hot embers from the fire her daughter lit when she came home from school.

The traces of her daughter’s ordinary, everyday presence overwhelmed her and she collapsed into the chair, crying. As Wallace stared at the pieces, the remains of her daughter’s existence surrounding her in a still-life, the controlled chaos whirled around the inside of her home. It seemed like a dream, a netherworld of dual dimensions separated by a fine film of reality. The pandemonium faded to mute as she focused on the simple bowl of fruit that was placed on the coffee table in front of the couch.

“Wallace, may I call you Wallace?”

“What happened here, Detective?”

“You have to calm down, Wallace,” he cautioned her, “if you are going to be any help to us.”

“Yes, of course. What happened? Start with the flare--where did the flare come from?”

“We don’t know all the details. We received a 911 call at about 5PM from your neighbor—the flare was burning unattended in the front yard. The patrol officer on duty came by, tried to get someone to answer the door, but couldn’t. He looked through the window and saw the TV was on, the bowl of fruit on the coffee table so he walked the perimeter and noticed the screen off the back window and called for back-up.”

Wallace was late. Her hungry daughter was left to fix her own dinner and she put a healthy compote of fruit together to eat. If Wallace were home on time, her daughter would be here now and they would be eating the mac and cheese she planned to make for dinner.

But, there it was—a simple bowl of fruit—marking her daughter’s disappearance.

It was the glaring evidence of her crime silently screaming, accusing her of the felony of her neglect.

© Muffy Wilson

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Tuesday, January 27, 2015

Tantalyzing Tuesday, 27 January 2015 ~ Summer Heat #iamwriting #lesbianlove #erotica

It is one of my favorite days of the week today. Time to get tantalyzing 'cause it is Tuesday Tuesday!! I think you are going to like this one, if you actually read it.....

When you are done here, please have a slip over to all the other author pages and read their pieces offered up for today's entertainment.

Enjoy ~  ☼ o√ ¸.¨¯`*..*˜"*°
Summer Heat
The girls went to the beach. It was hot and they all had too much sun, too much sand and too much tequila. She felt a little sick, I remember because we had to stop the car on the way home for her to throw-up all that sun, sand and tequila. Nearly made all of us sick just listening to her retch.

I held her head in the backseat and brushed the hair out of her face with a corner of the towel I dipped in the cooler of melting ice. She opened up her eyes, looked at me and smiled in a loving appreciative way that burned from my lips to my groin in a single searing bolt. I had never looked at her, not like that, and all because she was sick and grateful.

That was the weekend it began. I remember thinking it was the perfect ending to a perfect day—which forced me to question my recollection. She scared me, but I went with her anyway. Then I realized it was not she that scared me but it.

It scared the shit out of me.

I loved her until the flame, burning white-hot, consumed all the oxygen.
© Muffy Wilson

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Friday, January 23, 2015

***OUT NOW*** ~ Dreams Do Come True by Tonya Kinzer @tonyakinzer #iamwriting

Book One in the Lesbian Romance Series 
Dreams Do Come True

FRIDAY ONLY 23 January 2015 
Available for $.99 Here:  

Book 1
'Through His Lens' Series

Sandi’s career has taken off as a model and she loves her photographer…just not the way he wished she did. The men of her past abused her one too many times and the one woman in her life is being treated the same way. Can she get Kiera away from her abusive relationship and show her what true love really is? The two of them have been roommates for two years where Sandi has been forced to comfort her each time she’s been abused. Determined to put a stop to the abuse, Sandi has to show Kiera a new relationship already exists for her.

Dreams Do Come True
Tonya Kinzer
Once inside, Sandi bolted both locks, double checked the drawer to make sure her gun was loaded, just in case and fixed them both a drink. Kiera came into the kitchen and put her arms around Sandi from behind, pressing her breasts into Sandi’s back. Warm hands moved over her stomach and before she could wish for it, Kiera cupped one of her breasts, her thumb caressing a nipple. Sandi felt it pucker instantly, along with her inner muscles. When Kiera’s other hand moved down over her mons and her fingers moved between her legs, Sandi flattened her hands on the counter and moaned.

“Do I really make you feel like that?” Kiera teased her by pressing her fingers against the material of Sandi’s shorts.

She turned within Kiera’s embrace and met her gaze as she cupped her face. Kiera appeared so innocent, as though she had no idea how Sandi felt about her. “Ever since you moved in here with me, you’ve made me feel sexy. Having to watch you date Greg is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. Each time you left with him, I wished it were me you were going out with.”

“I never knew.” Kiera’s full lips parted as she pondered what Sandi had just told her and when hands moved down to cup Sandi’s ass, Kiera leaned in to touch her lips for a kiss. Sandi kissed her hard, threading fingers through her hair, demanding more back as her tongue swept Kiera’s mouth as though she’d lose her if she quit. Not often had Kiera made the first move, but today she did and Sandi prayed it would happen more often. Her love for Kiera would continue to grow and they could now share so much together.

Kiera pulled from the kiss and searched her eyes. “You’ve made me realize what I’ve been searching for. To find it in the arms of another woman surprises me and makes me happy at the same time. I don’t care who knows about us. If we’re happy, that’s all that matters.”

To hear Kiera admit she wanted to be a couple put a smile on Sandi’s lips. She brushed a strand of hair from Kiera’s cheek and kissed her nose. “I’m glad you’re happy, too. Let’s drink to that.” She handed a glass to Kiera and followed her into the living room. 
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