Wednesday Workshop: Invisible Forces

“Sylvie, your computer is dead,” Darthaniel said.

Well, wonderful. It happens doesn’t it? Of course, in this day an age of cloud backups and online everything, I didn’t lose a thing, but it is beside the point. I had plans to begin something big. I was connecting a new keyboard, one that I know I can do some serious work with. I had plans and thoughts, and I was thinking big.

I dusted.

Yes, you know I am serious if I dust.

It is like some invisible force is keeping me on my current path, away from a new book and on what I am currently doing. I need to take a computer apart, or get Darthaniel to do it, and go through the arduous process of installing Windows because the main drive is down. The universe came along and smacked me in the face with reality again.

An invisible force.

One I should probably pay heed to.

Oh, I am still here with reviews and workshops, and the site shall be as it is and was – so there is no change there. The universe wants me here so here I shall stay, being a singular voice in the tumult and sea of distraction. I am who I am and do what I do.

The book can wait just a little longer. You know that feeling, that you need to write and you just don’t know what? That is me. A full tank of gas, wanderlust, a willingness to go, and no destination, and then you find out the car is broken.

I can wait a little longer.

I do however, have other things I am working on.

A bit of self education. Some music practice. My other arts. Reading.

Yes, things for me.

I am so selfish, I know, but you probably get enough of my random musings here.

I get enough of me here.

In times like this I think of the concept of saturation, and it is relevant in what we do because I feel we live in this post-sex world of erotica, where sex itself has went far beyond the point of over-saturation and people are seeking something deeper, something more. What that is every one of us must find for ourselves, and for our readers as well. But the concept of saturation can apply to our personal lives as well. We can over-saturate ourselves with chasing success, and become something we never wanted to be.

And the universe comes along and tells me physics and the laws of the universe of computers apply to me as well.

In my world, I don’t expect them to apply to me. I am a champion of hope-based marketing! I believe in putting things out there and having them sell themselves. Everything I write is perfect. I don’t need to market myself. My computers never break.

I am full of it in many ways, as I am sure you already know.

But it feels good to return to my roots, and rebuild a computer and work environment again. It is a metaphor for something larger, I know. Cleaning out the old and rebuilding with the new. A fresh install of life. A fresh and clean drive in my mind, and infinite space and possibility again.

Until the next drive fails, but I hope that won’t be for a while.

But I don’t need to throw everything out, and like with any good rebuild, you keep a lot of what worked and what still has use. You take stock in what you have, and refocus. You make a list of the programs and tools you need, and refocus on those.

And then you realize your Dragon Dictate user profile of over four years of dictation training and user data was on that drive and the universe slaps you in the face again.

You son of a…

Sigh.

Life cannot be perfect, but we can pretend we are. Maybe that was a tool I need to re-evaluate. Maybe I need to finally get around to updating it. Do I work with dictation enough that I need really it? Again, you find things in the pile of broken tools and pieces of your work life that you take needed stock in what it is you need to work versus some of the things you thought were irreplaceable.

Maybe I need to reevaluate more than just getting this computer back online.

Maybe I need to think deeper than that.

Do not squander the power of change, and the power of negative forces in your life to push you towards your goals. Do not be afraid of transformational disaster, as every disaster clears the ground for something new. You need to be this way, endlessly flexible and open to clearing out the old and planting a new crop of success for your future. You need to see complete and utter failure for the opportunity it presents.

Wreckage is not something to feel sorry for, it is an opportunity to work hard, clear it out, and begin again.

So many people never get that chance to start again, yet disasters in our lives present this chance to us with regular frequency. We end up feeling so bad about our misfortune we never stop, take a second look, and realize there is something greater here sitting in front of our faces.

A chance to rebuild.

A Husband’s Place

That night, she left me alone, just as she promised. Yanking on my restraints, I pulled as hard as I could, trying to get free. It wasn’t going to happen. I could only watch as she got ready to go out with her friends. She pulled on a gorgeous red dress, black boots, and she took off her wedding ring.

Huffing and puffing, I kept imagining a world where I would open my mouth and tell her she couldn’t do this. I would shout at her, and the force of masculinity would be enough to get her to stop.

I never made the attempt, even once.

A Husband’s Place

If you think it is just masculinity alone that gets your wife to do something you are in the wrong marriage.

When I started this story of a man marring a complete commanding bitch of a woman I felt sorry for him, sorry that she treated him like an animal and as a slave, and I felt the story went a bit quickly down the submissive male husband slave route.

And then I realized he wasn’t completely worthy of Mistress’ pity with statements like that.

I still felt I disliked her for some reason, and then I felt everything moved a tad fast for me. The spanking came on their honeymoon night, the submissive restraints and tools of her control came next, the collars, the chastity devices, and all of the other methods of control. In short, I was feeling torn on why my connection to either of these two felt lacking. You know the saying, “it’s not you, it’s me?” That is where I was with this book, it hit all the right submissive tones and tools, yet I felt I had a slight bit of trouble with connecting with either of them.

I need that, a connection, a reason to feel empathy for one character or another – especially in a cuckolding story such as this. Perhaps I wanted some more background on these two, their college life, their growing up, the intimate friends they had before they met each other.

The humiliation and methods of control are very good, however, and I felt the book hit all the right notes on breaking him down and making him submit. It introduced things at a quicker pace than I am used to for a cuckolding work, but it did step out the next piece of control and humiliation well enough to make each an interesting and fun progression to the story. It also was brave enough to ‘go there’ and move things along to the next step without pussying around too much, and I appreciated that in a faster-paced story like this.

I felt it did keep things moving and it made sense, but I felt this could have been slowed down just a little and worked (for me) much better. This is one of those subjective points, and if I like something I get this feeling of ‘wanting more’ and ‘slow it down’ so I can savor things. So if I have those feelings, for good for for bad, you have my interest and captured my imagination – which is always a good sign for a book.

Part of me feels our male protagonist was a wee bit too submissive, willing, and uninteresting. He felt like he had nothing much of an outside life, no friends at work, no important job, no ‘other girl’ to confide in, and nothing ‘if the other people in his life found out’ thing going on. I wanted him to have a life outside of this that was at risk, a reason to pay for all the wonderful things she had, and something outside the humiliation that fed into the reason why he needed to become her slave. If he was a big-shot CEO or high-stakes corporate type, I wanted to see him taken down a whole bunch of notches by her because I like these revenge and ‘put him in his place’ stories.

“I don’t like seeing you like this,” she said, talking down to me like I was some sad little creature. “Here, let me help you.”

I howled out when cold stabbed into my crotch. Opening my eyes, I saw that Kate held an ice pack.

I read that at first as ice pick and I damn well nearly dropped my Kindle. Then I realized I wanted a bit more from her as well, despite my inclination to turn her from a domineering bitch to a black-widow and ice-pick wielding type figure. Darthaniel said if someone did that to him with an ice pack he would have peed all over her. I felt she was an interesting object of desire, and her methods of control worked on my feelings – I felt something for him, after all. What I wanted from her was more visuals, more of the lace stockings, subtly shaped thighs, her rose-like scent, and the curl of hair hanging between her eyes sort of thing.

When one is subject to humiliation and extreme control, one’s senses are heightened. When your world becomes one person, you focus very tightly on that one person and lots of little details come out. How she walks could be a fetish all in its own to him as he sits leashed and collared. There is a juxtaposition between the things which ‘set him off’ and the nasty, forbidden thoughts he has about her features and what he would do if he could. Maybe he stares at how her feet fit in her shoes, and then imagines doing something with her footwear while she isn’t watching. There were some very good moments with how her breath on his ear excited him, but I wanted some more show and tease in this area.

She giggled at me. It was such a beautiful, sweet, mocking sound. I could hear it. Kate wasn’t laughing with me. She was laughing at me. Even so, I didn’t complain.

Kate held something down against my lips.

I noted a couple issues of excess directionality with the work, and this is one of my writing hang ups as well. You know how you read something like ‘stare up at her’ and your mind later goes, just make it ‘stare at her?’ Here, we get some excess directionality issues with little things like ‘she giggled at me’ when ‘she giggled’ would have worked just as well and used less directional words and angular cues. I liken this issue to being a visual writer and subconsciously inserting those directional queues because our mind sees them. The reader should be able to fill this information in, and what happens is we provide too many excess cues that make the writing more tedious to read. Similarly, ‘down against my lips’ could just be ‘held something to my lips’ and read a lot cleaner.

When in doubt, remove directional cues and see if the action still works. If it doesn’t, rewrite the action rather than add the duct tape and scaffolding of directional cues.

Also, I noticed our female lead’s name was swapped from Kate to Terra in two places and it threw me for a moment that another girl was somehow involved. There was probably a name change somewhere alone the way and this needed some extra love and attention from an editoress.

Did this work for me? Well, I felt something, that I wanted more, so I am going to say yes. This was a faster-paced cuckolding book that brushes over the details and background, and just sticks to the good stuff. Now for me, it is the background and details that make all the good stuff have its impact, so there is that, and likely why I felt the things I did. But I did feel something, and the fact I wanted more puts this in the worthy reads category for me.

Wednesday Workshop: The Love of Myths and Loss

Part of accepting that you love something is the part where you accept that some day, you will lose it forever.

It is something you rarely see in our ‘happily ever after’ world where we are sold narratives like over the counter medication, that love and good feelings will make everything better, and that ‘being informed’ automatically makes you a better person.

Well, sorry, none of that means anything.

…now that I said that, how do you feel?

Probably a bit upset, right? Now why is this so? Stick with me a moment while I explore a couple more feelings about this, if you will.

I read these posts on social media of people mourning a loss, and I have done my share of that in the last few years. You have to grieve, and I am all for sharing those feelings in whatever way helps you heal. What strikes me about those posts is that love is still there, that the part of ‘love’ we often miss when we write and reflect life is that ‘missing you’ part.

I get this feeling that every day we work so hard at living in a fantasy world we miss what is real, what is really in front of our faces, and what life really means. We are sold fantasy every day, by the sites we visit, the news we read, and by those looking to extract a couple more pennies from our pockets. If you think mythology is just minotaurs and medusas you have a lot of learning to do, as the practice of creating and perpetuating mythology is a part of everything we do and everything we see.

We create a lot of myths about love, but for me, I feel we embellish it like some artificial princess fantasy where love solves everything, and it is worth any price. Think about that statement, that there is some love that isn’t worth the price you would have to pay.

It’s absurd, right? The media tells us love is everything! Love fixes everything! Love is the universal solvent for any problem!

Some love comes with too big of a price to pay, and even though that love it there, it just isn’t worth the price.

Romeo and Juliet?

Don’t go stabbing yourself over a lost boyfriend, okay? The price isn’t worth it. I am sure the two of them, if either had truly lost each other, would have had more to give the world in the years past the loss they suffered. Let’s say Romeo died, and Juliet moved on. She found someone new. She had a family.

Juliet’s children.

Think about that. She could still love her first love, but what makes who she is special is her ability to still have that love and move on. To pass that love on to the things that matter now, her children, and use that loss as a brick in her foundation – a stepping stone to a better her.

I’m not trying to tell people to ‘get over it’ and that is not what this is, this is for writers thinking about love and what it means. Love is bigger than that, and it is bigger than the few things which are repeated endlessly by the modern myth industry of entertainment.

But yes, there is some love not worth the price, as either of Shakespeare’s two star-crossed lovers may later say if they had their minds about them at the time. I feel we rarely explore that in romance or other works, because we try so hard to be part of the industry that creates, perpetuates, and sells myths to the masses.

I see this as the term HEA (happily ever after) in romance, and how books are sometimes criticized for not having one.

If you have one or not is up to you, and yes, there is a huge population of readers that see these books as an ‘escape’ and expect the warm fuzzy, happy, cream filling of a payoff at the end of an emotional roller coaster of a book – myself included. Like a good popcorn movie I enjoy the sugar high and creamy aftertaste to movies and entertainment based on mythology. If a book should have had a happily ever after moment and we were setup for one – and didn’t get it – I would probably be among those who would complain.

Such is the power of mythology.

Which is why some people today spend their lives creating myths. Today, entire industries are devoted to writing modern mythology.

Just watch the news.

Or don’t watch it and feel a lot better about yourself and the world, but that is just me.

This is not about ‘happily ever after’ just like this is not about mourning or the news, as this is about the mythology surrounding these expectations and feelings. Why you felt upset when I challenged your beliefs. Slow down. Step back. Realize we live in a world that isn’t controlled solely by emotion and reactions to those emotions.

Realize there is something there, there.

There is an expectation game and built-in power of ‘the myth’ working either for or against us in everything we do. Have you ever worked with someone who is always said to be a ‘great worker’ and when you look at ‘what they do’ it is less or no more than anyone else in your job? Are you envious at them? Pissed off? Trying to live up to them?

That great worker thing is a myth, perpetuated by a small handful people in the pool of office politics, and regret it or love it (especially if it is you) – that myth is a powerful thing. It is a predisposition, a story, and a narrative which is often accepted before the facts are ever known. Great worker, yeah, team player. They could be sitting at their desk all day and the myth is still there. The myth could give people a reason to rally to them and do a better job at what they do, merely because that person is there and the myth is a real and driving force for that organization. The myth here is a real thing, in that people work better as long as this person stays with the company. But it is not based on any fact or anything real.

The myth.

Realize when something is said, there is a tendency to go one way or another based on the myths around whatever this is. There is a power in controlling them. There is another sort of power in realizing when you yourself are being affected about this power.

Do you have a reason to believe the story or the myth that is commonly accepted to be the truth?

Or is there something else there?

Some fact you may be overlooking if you put the myth aside for a moment and dig deeper to look at what is real.

You can come back to the myth later, if you choose, or twist in in a unique and special way that plays with people’s expectations.

But reflecting on why we believe some things to be so makes us a better observer of the world, and in turn better writers of this thing we live in, which we call life.

Alien Romance: Alien’s Mail Order Queen

“Well, I can’t believe she fell for that alien!” Billy said, guffawing. “Remember how Lia used to detest aliens after they had discovered Earth and became a permanent part of our society?”

Freya had helped carry out the trays of food and set up the dessert table under the ‘Happy Birthday’ banner. As the guests milled about, chatted, danced to the music, and munched on the chips and nuts, Freya and Lia worked together.

In a few minutes, the guests had gathered around in the living room. The curtains were arranged so Bonx wouldn’t be suspicious as he approached the house. He was a scientist who closely worked with the government and that day, he was scheduled to work a bit later than usual. He was home right on time.

“Surprise!” everybody screamed as soon as Bonx entered the house. He literally froze on the spot.

Alien Romance: Alien’s Mail Order Queen (Science Fiction Alien Abduction Invasion Arranged Marriage Romance) (Scifi Mystery Adventure Shifter Paranormal Short Stories Book 1)

…and the blaster fire that followed shocked everybody.

Seriously, that was the first thought on my mind when I read that sequence, and I admit my complete and utter awfulness. I would probably check with the aliens to see if surprise parties were in their culture before I tripped a surprise party on an alien (given Earth’s never-changing Neanderthal ways). Seriously, we never stop ambushing people with our warlike ways, even the ones we love.

But damn, this is such a sweet book.

It gets a lot of sci-fi right, alien that discover the planet and the technology that is slowly integrated into society with a mix of the old and the new. Despite a couple stumbles in the beginning, like that “John your friend, Jane the stripper is calling” moment that sounds more for the reader than a character, and also a lot of backstory on a yoga studio being sold that felt like it could be polished a little for a faster start, I liked this book.

It hit a lot of the right romance notes, and it wandered in and out of our heroine’s life at places it mattered. It showed us a lot of why the two of these people, one human and one alien, came together and melded into one. It wasn’t afraid to show us the troubles of their pairing, and our heroine was independent enough to get up and walk out on him – and also realize when she was wrong.

She is whisked off to an alien world as sort of an unexpected mail-order bride, and she becomes a queen – every girl’s dream, right? Well, every girl’s preprogrammed ‘princess’ fantasy which is sold to us from birth so we can go through life expecting to sit on a golden throne all our life and never work for anything. I would rather have a harder life since I find satisfaction in earning it myself, but that is just me I suppose. The story does a good job with that unexpected part, and this becomes the center of conflict in our story – will she or won’t she?

The book keeps things simple, and I appreciate that – especially in sci-fi. Since there is a lot of ‘new stuff’ we are being exposed to, I appreciate sci-fi that keeps the basics simple while letting our eyes wander upon the scenery. And therein lies my suggestions for improvement for this book, I feel it doesn’t do a good enough job showing us the wonder of new worlds, aliens, and the grand vistas of new planets. I didn’t know the aliens looked just like us until halfway through the book, so I was imagining all of these foam-rubber forehead glued-on ‘species of the week’ hybrids from somewhere out of Star Trek with fifty shades of pastel colored skin – like the green ‘Orc Orgy’ alien on the cover of the book that I could not find in the book.

And then the book takes turns that both warm my heart and drive me crazy. His royal, aloof attitude. Seeing him glow with children. His detached and removed nature. His enjoying her cooking. You get these moments of ‘can’t stand him’ and ‘too sweet to let go’ that drive me up the wall, and instantly I sit back, smile, and say…

Good romance book.

Yes, that. It has erotic elements, so it barely qualifies, but this is romance written a bit out there on the edge of science fiction, but if it pulls on the Mistress’ heart strings it earns a shiny gold star.

It is not without a couple blaster marks, blemishes, and worn spots – but then again, the future should never look perfect. And this one qualifies for that slightly yellowed pages and dog eared little short story of space-themed romance that is a universal tale of coming together.

Something our little Neanderthal-culture obsessed world could use right now.

Wednesday Workshop: Pride and Persistence

I get this feeling from time to time.

Where people go wrong starts in a lack of pride in what they do.

When you look at it, we have a lot to be proud of – what we do at work, what we write, our accomplishments, what we have earned, or what we have yet to earn. Modern life, with its instant-on, self-worth destroying constant presence of social media tends to tear us down – put us in groups, rank our posts, make us feel marginalized by a lack of likes, and make our posts invisible because we refuse to pay somebody somewhere for the ‘right.’

It feels like everything we do is ranked against someone else in some insane, monetized, marketer-driven game of a high-school popularity contest where if you only pay someone money you could be more popular tomorrow.

In short, whoever invented that is a genius.

But the net effect is for everyone else, it wreaks havoc with our self-worth. We aren’t being seen. This post got fewer likes than the last. We get this feeling of posting and never being seen because some machine somewhere is pulling the strings and keeping what we say away from the people we want to engage.

Even though we know they want to see it.

So we feel marginalized by the very platform we use to communicate.

And that marginalization feeds into a feeling of worthlessness.

And with that worthlessness comes a lack of pride in what we do.

But we should be proud, we have every right to! We have accomplished a lot, even if it is just writing one book and releasing it upon the world, you have done what 99% of the population of this planet will never do.

Write.

Create.

Share.

Put it out there for the good or the bad.

You have done something. Something positive. Something creative. You have braved the storm of the global high-school popularity contest and put something out there. You have weathered the storm of social media indifference and announced your creation to the world. You have figured out how not to look stupid, checked your words to the best of the ability, and realized how badly your education has let you down when that stupid mistake sails right through onto the printed page.

And then you watched everyone focus on that one silly mistake as if it were the sole value of your work.

And you picked yourself up the next day to write again, or to review, or to comment, or to contribute to whatever community you may be involved in. You smiled, learned, and said ‘next time will be better.’

And the next time will be better because you have pride in what you do.

Despite everything.

You are unafraid to make mistakes. I think this is a big one here, because the fear of making a mistake is probably what keeps the other 99% of the world from doing anything productive or positive. The tearing-down force of social media and that fear of screwing something up in public is a force which can paralyze you. Think about that. The fear of unknown consequences keeps you from being what you want to be. Sure, there are dangers and risks to everything. You could fail spectacularly. You could royally fuck something up. You could do something for which you live in regret for the rest of your life.

But I would rather live in regret of something for which I have done than something I wish I would have done.

And even if I fail, I am proud to have tried and failed.

That pride thing comes back, you know?

“At least I tried.”

And I don’t say that in a negative and defeated tone of voice. I say that with pride. I tried. I did what 99% of the world wouldn’t or couldn’t. I was out there, my ass on the limb, working hard and trying to make whatever I did work. I think I will change that quote to this:

“I did something most people would never do.”

That. That is a better quote. it reflects the pride and daring-do of even thinking about attempting the impossible. You did something. You worked at it and put yourself into it. And when nothing came back, or you fucked it up on your first several tries out, you did not recoil in fear at the prospect of continuing to look like a fool.

You stuck with it.

You suffered through your mistakes.

You have the wisdom of someone who failed, screwed things up, and kept at it tomorrow.

At this point, you are way ahead of the other 99%, if I can through that old high-school popularity thing at you to make you feel a little better. But you are better than that, because you really don’t care about being ahead of the other 99% right now. You don’t care ‘where you are at’ compared to others. You do things because you want to do them, and you love what you do. You put things out because you know people will enjoy them. They won’t always be able to find them right away, but every now and then something you have done, even if it is years ago, will generate some interest.

You have given up on being successful and famous ‘right now.’ I feel that is sort of an Internet trap, that once you release something to the world you have this expectation it will be like a Youtube video and generate a million views at the press of a button. Our expectations are screwed up. Our priorities for instant fame are misaligned with reality. Especially for a writer. Or an artist. Or whatever else it is you find love in and do every day.

Ours is not the easy road.

This is why walking it makes us who we are.

And why we should take pride at being here, and what we do along the way.

SCIENCE FICTION EROTICA: Abducted by the Pleasure Bot

She looked around, trying to make sense of where she was. This place was new to her. She had never been to this place before. At least, she didn’t recognize it at all.

Rubbing her eyes, Lee tried to make sure she wasn’t sleeping, make sure this wasn’t a dream. There could not be a whole planet in front of her. It was huge, with rings, in the sky. It didn’t look so far from her but it was there and she had never seen a planet so close. The area she was in was absolutely sullen and rocky, the air felt thin, but it was breathable and everything about it seemed to have such an “alien” feeling to it. She couldn’t understand how she had got there and worse, she didn’t know where she was.

SCIENCE FICTION EROTICA: Abducted by the Pleasure Bot

Spank!

All this and I still don’t know where she is. Mistress is displeased she is in a place she doesn’t recognize at all, a place she has never been to, and having an entire planet in front of her of which she has never seen so close.

What am I on? Oh yes, Mistress is currently on a planet.

Spank!

Show don’t tell, just throw us somewhere where the orange buffalo roam, the giant purple mushrooms tower above the rocky surface of the world, and giant floating blue puff ball plants hover lazily across the pastel pink skies with a double sun and a moon so large it fills half the sky. That I don’t recognize. That is new to me. And it certainly isn’t Kansas, Toto.

And stop humping my leg.

Despite that rocky crash landing upon this alien world, how is the rest of the book? Surprisingly Penthouse Letters like and a strange and an Alice in Wonderland like tale of a woman way out of her element, rescuing a crushed male sex robot with a roll of duct tape and a blowjob, and negotiating to stay the night at a group of aliens’ house with a four-way romp for payment. What I love about this book is it is so unpretentious and random, and the sex is so upfront and out there. Mistress has been reading a lot of books lately where the sex is treated as a reward for reading three-hundred pages of drama, and like last week’s choose your own sex adventure this one is on the ‘instant gratification’ shelf where sex is something to do like breathing.

But I wanted more vivid detail. I wanted the spots on the blue skin of the Navi. I wanted the dull glow of their yellow eyes. I wanted the strange smell of the hut, like fresh cut wood mixed with the musky tinge of burning incense. I wanted the flick of an alien’s tail, the catlike moments of their bodies, and the way their gills pulse and retract on the base of their necks while they breathe. Their large, three-toed and clawed feet. The touch of their long alien fingers. How a kiss tastes, and how a slippery, foot-long alien tongue feels like on my skin.

Mistress wants that.

It doesn’t take many words to get that across either, I put you on a strange alien world in just one sentence just by focusing on what you saw when you opened your eyes. Think of the reader as a soldier in the Saving Private Ryan movie when the soldiers were storming the beach and the viewer’s head kept going under water and you only got brief but intense glimpses of the world around you every so often. There is a lot going on, yes, but what would you first see in such a world? What jumps out at you? What sets the scene?

Feelings can come later, and a lot of the feelings about a scene can be wrapped up in the descriptions without ever having to say we have ever been here before. Impossible purple mushrooms towering over the jagged and alien landscape. The hulking grunts of the grazing orange spotted buffalo, who cared nothing about the strange and twisted world around them. The giant blue puff balls floating impossibly overhead, with tendrils hanging beneath like vines, and the entire scene looking like something out of a crazy Salvador Dali painting come to life around her.

The sex feels a little on the basic but porny side, and I would love some more nasty visual action to the proceedings, and more than just the recounting of nasty thoughts about what she was doing. If we are going to give head to a sex robot, I want more than just starting to give head and then a couple paragraphs about how she liked giving head before we move on to the next act. I want to see some reaction from the robot as he gasps and has never felt such an experienced lover do this to him before, yes, even if that line was programmed in that sort of thing is still a huge thrill for me. I want to see her start in, stop, and ask him how this feels. I want to feel the veins and skin slide past her lips, and see the wet sheen of her saliva upon his shaft.

Slow down.

Mistress wants to enjoy the moment.

I don’t need nor want every sex position. I just want this one we are seeing now to matter. To have feeling. To jump out at me and give me a thrill. To linger in the sultry moment, to hang in the air like the musk of a heavy day, and to make itself comfortable in the space of my mind. Forbidden thoughts settle in and make themselves at home within my fantasies.

To be fair, I do like speculative erotica, and the parts of this book I love are the innocent and erotic exploration of a strange alien world. Like seeing strange mushroom plants and realizing they are phallus-like in shape and function, and then acting upon that impulse for a sexy romp for a while. That comes across as arousing and strangely sexual for me, and I love the feeling this book has in that area. Planetary exploration is like sexual exploration, and we get a good sense of forbidden erotic adventure here.

But what would make this sing for me is a greater focus on the visual and immediate feel, and also what is seen and not told. What is experienced and not apparently known. The mystery and thrill of pleasuring the unknown, only to find out more about yourself in the process.

Wednesday Workshop: Despite

Despite our constant fears of failure, we must go on.

There is no other option. We must start that next book, finish that series, open the mailbox, do the dishes, go to work, and wake up the next day to do it all again. We must hope higher than just surviving the next day.

We must live.

We must live, to live.

To go beyond the ordinary, and to attempt the extraordinary without fear or limitation. We must be greater than ourselves, and allow ourselves to shine. It is not an easy thing, because in order to shine we must constantly let light hit ourselves, to be outside our boxes, and stand in the harsh light of strange public places. We have to refine our facets, practice our craft, and hone the angles in which we pursue in order to let what scant light that hits us the best chance of reflecting off our ingenious glory and hitting our watchers straight in the eye.

A sparkle in all the noise.

Something that glimmers in all of the cacophony of Internet life, that overcomes the negative din and constant streams of distraction and mediocrity. Something that makes someone take notice. A spot of light, a momentary flare, and enough of a beautiful sparkle that someone out there takes a couple precious moments of their day and chooses to spend it with us.

Glory goes to those that hustle. The brand builders. The hard workers. Those that sacrifice time and moments of their lives to chase something greater than themselves. Those who selflessly pimp themselves out across every social media platform that pays out and builds those followers into a tsunami of success. Or even just a small wave would make some happy.

You know, recognition.

You get into that word and it is fraught with danger. You could say recognition and then load your ego up with so many expectations that you will never be able to fill them all. This will be the one. I am so eloquent and great how could this next book not be a hit? I am overdue for greatness.

I say these things because they begin the road to disappointment.

I also say these things because they are the same things that paves the road to success.

You need to believe in yourself to be a success. You need to start living the life of your dreams, to believe those things cynics would call lies but you know are the truth about you, and to give up your jaded disdain for the world and be the success you always knew you were.

What makes the difference here are how you react to the grand illusions in which you choose to believe about yourself when things go wrong.

Someone who is a failure would come crashing down, that all of those lofty goals and thoughts of grandiose ability and greatness in the face of failure would pop their balloon like the mighty Hindenburg. A flaming crash of self-loathing, despair, disappointment, I told you so moments, and the inevitable ‘oh god’ moments when staring into the mirror.

Someone who is a success would still keep believing. That this failure is just a momentary setback. That of course doing what they love will bring them success, but more importantly – happiness. The fact we have setbacks in life is normal, but for the successful person it is all in how we deal with them.

The successful mindset attracts success.

I believe it is a force of nature. You see this with reports about ‘the economy’ and ‘consumer confidence’ all the time. If people believe things are going to be good things change for the better. An economy can turn itself around, to an extent, just by people believing in tomorrow. There is also a holistic side to this in medicine, people that believe they are going to recover and get better generally do. Even if the condition is chronic, believing in their health and tomorrow generally makes them more positive, more healthy, and more able to carry on that fight with a smile and a belief in being able to do the things in which they love someday.

Despite.

Despite all these people go through in times of tragedy and sorrow, they believe in a better tomorrow.

They adopt the mentality of success, even in the face of adversity.

When others shrink, those who stand up are seen more clearly – and you cannot stand up unless you believe in what you do is for you, and you see that golden ring in which you want to reach for this time around. And if you miss grabbing that ring this time, you believe the next time around will be your chance.

Because you don’t want to get off this ride. Not yet. You still have plans. You still have hopes and dreams. And you still know what you love doing is right for you, loved by you, and therefore loved by so many others who have not had the chance to discover your work. Part of the big problem in ‘getting noticed’ is not being taken seriously. You struggle for years doing this and that, and you desperately wish people would take your work seriously.

Well, how can you expect others to take you seriously when you don’t take yourself seriously?

I speak in general, because there are a great many people that do take themselves seriously and still never find the recognition they seek. But it is a basic fact, you need to take your work seriously. And that could mean a great many things, from putting in the time to do self-promotion, to writing, to editing, to learning new skills, and a great many other things. I can’t give a set formula for what you need here since everyone is different. For me, yes, it is self-promotion, I admit I rarely have the time, so I adjust my expectations accordingly. If I wanted to take my work seriously, I would put more time in there, so I admit my faults and plan to do better in that area.

I am not so full of myself I cannot admit my failings.

But I am not so full of self-loathing that I let my weaknesses destroy my dreams.

I know I am a great and wonderful creator, and there are places in my work and life that I need to improve. I still believe in the dream though. I still believe in myself. Despite the things which may and I know will happen, I shall carry on with the dream.

Because I know there is that better day out there.

It is waiting for me and I have the ability to reach it.

All it takes for me to overcome a couple more moments of doubt, and to put in the work needed.

That is all there is.

I am the greatest obstacle to my success.

I am, I admit it.

Now, with that silly admission out of the way, how am I going to achieve my dreams?

Despite.

The World of Cherry 2

The aftereffects of Bethany and Jane going full frontal and horizontal on the bar had far reaching effects on the club members. As if infused with a magical aphrodisiac, table upon table, room after room, sex happened at an epic level, out in the open on the perimeters of the dance floor, and in the private rooms. The ripple effect of voyeurism seeps deep within the veins and psyche of highly aroused women, which is why I stand by the belief that watching sex is as important to a healthy well being as physically participating in it.

It happens, and when it does I let it be. The random hookups between the members had a freestyle, spontaneous quality that was unstoppable and organically fascinating. When women are stimulated on a group level, sex becomes tribal and purposeful. Activities among the ladies took on a life of their own, and on those rare occasions, I am obliged to step out of their way and let nature take its course.

The World of Cherry 2

This series just keeps getting better.

Here’s the rub, and I could be scissoring you with my girl nerd-like fascination of writing, so bear me out for a couple more slow and purposeful strokes. You have books that do a lot of head-jumping, and this one certainly is the case. It switches perspectives and characters with a music-video-like trance of lesbian induced haze, with rapid changes of “who’s head is this” every chapter. I called the first book out for this, but here, something magical is happening.

I can identify the characters from just how they are written.

Yes. My mind is blown by a word-gasm of such incredible intensity that I lap up and savor every drop of the moment. I can identify the characters from just how they are written. Think of that, not only do the characters have a way of speaking to each other all their own, they have a way of speaking to the reader all their own and it can be identified by the reader within a couple lines.

This makes the head-jumps much more easier to take.

This also makes this book so much more enjoyable to read.

All of a sudden, the clumsy hint-drops on who’s head this is go away. The artificial “hello, Jane the stripper” sort of PoV character signposts are not needed, and we slip into each chapter with the comfortable sense and ease of slipping into our favorite pair of shoes. It is a beautiful thing. Now, I could say that since this is a book two, and I am used to the writer’s work, I have picked up on those character writing hints and this is more of a “getting back into it and used to this style” thing.

But it isn’t. I am picking this book up after months of reading the first, and right away it is apparent who is speaking even without a name being said. I just know.

Magic?

Possibly.

Karissa and Serena look puzzled, and giggle, speaking back to Avery in their native language. I answer for them. “Enough to get by in a compromising situation. The language of love will have to be your mode of communication.” I pop the champagne and pour two glasses. My employees aren’t allowed to drink on the job, but my members can have all they want—within reason, of course. “I’m sure you’ll manage without any troubles.”

Katherine touches the girls like exotic animals on display. “Pretty babies, they are.”

Avery pats my shoulder, sipping from her flute. “Where have you been hiding them?”

The sly cat smile I give her states the obvious—my secrets are for their own benefit and not to be shared. “In the golden cage I keep in my living room, where all my employees stay until it’s time to bring them out.”

Snorting at my response, Avery joins Katherine. She traces the cleavage line of Serena, the bendable redhead with hazel-eyes. “I would do the same thing if I were you, Cherry, or else they’d never leave my bed.”

Lesbian magic at that. The book weaves its slick and tawdry tale of the lesbian sex club through beds, between sheets, in the backrooms, and all the while capturing those little early-morning conversations between mature and consenting adults of the female species as they pick their way through the tangled throes of lust and business. Sex is chemistry and business is emotion, and mixing the two makes for a tangled web of “just doing this for the paycheck” and “true love” which makes it near-impossible to sort out true feelings unless, well, you are cool about this all and can just take things as they are and as they come.

Not many people can do that, trust me. For some, what people do at work is a replacement for the drama of jilted lovers and psycho bed-mates with not a kiss or sexual situation between them. Some people love the drama, queens of soap operas of their own creation, the power trip of ruining someone else’s work life joy enough for their twisted passions of schadenfreude and wicked destructive desires.

Now, take people like this, people which you may on may never know their intentions, and put them in bed together.

Half the fun is feeling each other out, and I mean that in the best way.

The other half is judging if the other partner is too crazy to keep associating with, either on a personal or professional level. Someone too crazy to take to bed may be sane enough to maintain a professional relationship with. In other cases, they may be too crazy to live in the same state with. How do you judge that while trying to keep the ship of commerce sailing while keeping the captain’s sheets occupied by lovers you adore and trust and friends you may sleep with but would never share secrets with?

And that is the World of Cherry.

A twisted and tangled place of lesbian lust and business. With sex scenes that burn their passions into your mind with a ferocity and lust that hit you like a sudden gust of wind, and you sit there lost in the motion and powerful force of nature. It is almost as if Mother Nature herself summoned that force upon you, and through these characters and their sordid hook-ups we are witness to forbidden moments of desire and lust. We are not only shocked at their explicit nature, but we are moved by their sudden and rapturous passions and intensity.

Sordid stories.

Twisted and sometimes random hook ups with lasting consequences.

Lesbian sex that matters.

And all the beautiful moments in between.

Wednesday Workshop: Moments in the Never

There are times when my mind goes back to a simple place. A time before this. To a place where what was known was known, and what could be was the foreseeable forever from that moment until the end of time.

And then things change.

We see that rail pulling away and headed off in a different direction, as the train we are on moves the way it takes us. We let our eyes cling to that unknown rail as it twists and turns away, eventually disappearing behind a rise or a hill, and its path becomes the subject of our dreams and imagination.

And that is the rail we wonder about.

What if? It is a thought which haunts us our entire lives, one which we continually dream about yet tell ourselves we need to get over it to move on. The rail we are on is more important than the ones we could have been on. We must best deal with the present. We are here, and there are things needing attention now or soon enough. We cut our days into needed tasks and finding time for ourselves, yet that rail always lurks in the back of our mind like a way never taken, a path never walked down, and memories of a past which was a future that we never had.

It haunts us.

Another life, lived only in our dreams, with vivid details and certain moments which had to have happened but never did. We are sure of this as if there is another us out there telepathically sending us signals from a distant reality created by choices we never made, or ones that were made for us of which we had no control. A second life, lived only through our dreams, and events we remember that never were or ever happened.

Moments in the never.

Another life, lived entirely in dreams.

And we reflect on the life in which we now live. One where the value of a life is only determined by the amount of lies told and lies believed. The links clicked on, the moments wasted, and the micro-transactions of conscious moments tallied on some machine somewhere and data mined about our every thought and moment. Meaningless metrics of a life currently lived one way, but dreaming in another. One they can never know. One which I shall never tell openly, but I care not if anyone does know. A life I know in my heart which is more me than anything they know about me.

I am more than just data. I am alive. I live.

We are told we suffer in this life by the world, but it is only us that makes us suffer. They have no control of this life and they know it. For theirs is the rail on which our train rides, and we are free to step off at any time. A predetermined fate on a rail of destiny, with wheels greased by conveniences they tell us we need. Which ten years ago, we got along fine without.

We turn on the news and they ship us lies with a smile and a reassurance the channel of our choice is looking out for us.

And the next channel over they are doing the same, and then telling their viewers I am the enemy.

When I grow tired of their bullshit is the moment of weakness the lies stick. Or I grow so tired I turn it off in disgust. This is the era in which we live.

All news is fake.

Noise I don’t need. Cancel it all, cut the cord, get rid of the dish, and shut it all out. Goodbye, you and your pharmaceutical ads for diseases I never knew I had. Goodbye people more famous for the hate they spew than the problems they solve. Goodbye seven hundred channels I never watch but pay for every month. Goodbye sports. Goodbye food channels. Goodbye reality television.

Go away noise.

I want to live my life a-la-carte. By my choice. And I accept the consequences of missing the something everyone else is talking about, mainly because I value my free and unfettered mind. I value quiet reflection more than I do distraction.

Distraction is then sold to us as peace of mind.

Opiates to mask the pain of everyday life. Visual and aural addiction to mask the pains the same source brings into our lives. Hatred on one channel, comedy about the same on the next. We never really want to solve a problem because there wouldn’t be angry viewers tomorrow seeking the same hatred and then some comedic release.

The thing is, in my other life these things which consume my energy do not exist. In my dreams, I never watch the news. I am never in front of the television in that other life, nor do I dream of social media or online distractions. There is something there, a pure version of me which I seek in this life, someone not distracted and living a life of choices – not reactions. Someone who took that other rail to a place where they may not be entirely happy, as the grass is not always greener, but this person in my dreams lives as they choose. A life without distractions. A life without hatred intravenously fed into my veins by social media or the television.

A life controlled by me, not them.

My thoughts my own. My dreams ones which come to me naturally, without artificial impetus or implanted fantasy.

The rails which we never followed would have led us to the places in dreams. Pure places. Places where we find the best versions of ourselves, those unburdened by the yoke of deception and manipulation. Places where our dreams find un-fenced fields to run free in. Places where our thoughts are more important than our fears.

A place where I am me.

Without distraction.

Without the constant and unwelcome nag of the here and now.

Without problems people tell me I have or should worry about.

I am not the sum total of other people’s problems. I am me. I am a life worth living. I am the person in my dreams. I am free to do as I wish. I am free to speak. I am one who dreams, and then does. I am one unafraid to live life. I am someone who never lets loss define my life, because life is more loss than it is gain, especially as the years go on. If we can accept that then we can truly live.

I can learn from that person in my dreams. That never me. The one who lives life down the other set of rails. The one who calls to me from time to time, to ask me how I am doing here in the world of worry and sorrow. Though my dreams we speak.

I tell this person I am doing fine, and while I am stuck here, my thoughts and dreams are in a better place.

With them.

Your Naughty Playmate 1 – Soapy Bimbo Car Wash Fantasy


Your day got off to a rough start. Your wife had to take your son to his summer camp and your teenage daughter to summer gymnastics class. That made you late to work for the third time in as many weeks. Your boss chewed you out and told you to work late on the quarterly reports. You worked through lunch, through breaks, and stayed at your desk trying to make sense of the quarterlies while one coworker after another came by to invite you to drinks.

You think you have heard the last of it when here comes the one person you find hardest to resist.

“It’s Friday,” says Jane, the sexy brunette you’ve been flirting with. “Come on, one drink…”

Your Naughty Playmate 1 – Soapy Bimbo Car Wash Fantasy

What do you do?

STARE AT SYLVIE
CONTINUE WITH THE REVIEW

 

STARE AT SYLVIE

“What is this?” Sylvia said, “an erotic choose your adventure book? How quite strange indeed.”

Sylvia flips through the book, noting how the writer used hyperlinks to present choices, and how THE END is a link that brings you back to the beginning to start again. She likes the ease-of-use the writer put into this work, and notes that the Kindle isn’t always an interactive game-playing device, although the hyperlinks do work pretty well at providing a non-linear reading experience.

She notes how the passages are short, and she  major branching choices are put in the front of the book so the amount of reading through the old stuff is reduced with each new read-through. With books like these you want to keep the reader reading new choices, so you want to front-load the major branches tightly to make the book less annoying by the dozenth restart.

“Not a bad structure to this,” Sylvia says, “and I like how this is sort of like a kinky little interactive game. Very creative. Did you know I used to be heavy into interactive fiction? You know, those text-only games where you would read a passage and then the text prompt would pop up and you would type things like “go north” or “look at door” and try to figure out the puzzle of what you were supposed to do next?”

She sighs, “I miss those games.”

What do you do?

CONTINUE WITH THE REVIEW
PLAY WITH SYLVIE’S TITS

 

PLAY WITH SYLVIE’S TITS

You reach over and unbutton the first few buttons on Sylvie’s cream-colored blouse as you push a string of her long red hair out of the way. You trace a finger along the lace trim of her Maidenform bra, gently lifting it from her skin as you note the goosebumps erupt along her lavender-scented skin. The curve of her breast pulls away from her bra as she gasps, her wet red lips parting as her emerald green eyes stare into yours.

“I’m trying to write a review,” she says, “and all you can do is play with my tits? Seriously? You are not really interested in the book, just sex, right?”

She sighs as your finger teases the edge of her bra, playing with her curves as you feel the heat of her skin against your digit, and she looks up at you accusingly.

“You are not going to cut this out, are you?”

What do you do?

CONTINUE WITH THE REVIEW
STROKE SYLVIE’S THIGH

 

STROKE SYLVIE’S THIGH

“So anyways,” Sylvie says with a huff as she pulls her shirt a little closed for a little more modesty, but she doesn’t button it back up and you take quick notice. “Let us continue with the review.”

“You know, the one thing I love about these sort of books,” she says, and your ears grow deaf to her words as her beauty takes you in. You place your hand on Sylvie’s knee and note the smooth, graceful curve to her shapely legs. They are the kind of legs with hidden places all of their own, with tight calves, sexy feet, and all sorts of interesting concave indentations and convex shapes which catch the light. You slide your hand up her leg, letting your wrist catch the hem of her skirt and your fingers slide up the warm inside of her thigh.

You can feel the heat escaping her skirt as she gasps again, and you feel the muscles on the inside of her leg pull taut.

“Oh my!” she says with a gasp. “You cannot keep your hand from probing my innermost secrets! How am I supposed to get this review done if you keep feeling me up?”

She stares into your eyes as emerald fire catches light.

“Or do you have other ideas?”

What do you do?

KISS SYLVIE

CONTINUE WITH THE REVIEW

 

KISS SYLVIE

You take her into your arms and kiss the reviewer, and she makes that “mmph” noise as she tries to get a word out but her means of speaking is filled with the passion of your kiss. You take in her gentle and delicate scents, the lavender of her skin, the coconut and pomegranate of her hair, and the ginger and rose-like spice of the body spray on the nape of her neck. She squirms in your grasp as you feel the beat of her heart pound against your chest, making a pair more of “mmm” noises as she tries to get a word in but your hand insists on grabbing the curve of her ass as you force yourself against her.

She breaks the kiss with a gasp for breath as the daze of passion floats in her eyes.

“Oh my!” she says, “you are quite the kisser indeed. But I am afraid our time runs short, and I must do this writer good service by finishing the review. Now, I shall give you two choices…”

What do you do?

KISS SYLVIE
CONTINUE WITH THE REVIEW

 

CONTINUE WITH THE REVIEW

“Now tell me the truth,” Sylvie says as she straightens her blouse, “how many times did you re-read the ‘kiss me’ paragraph, if you did?”

You tell her the truth and she sighs, “if it was more than once you need to get out more and find a special friend.”

She smiles with wicked intent and a playful tease.

“Let’s finish this off,” she says, “shall we? So, anyways, where was I? Oh, yes, this book. So anyways, the text is really on the basic side, sort of porn-y and simple, without the flair or flourish, but you know I am not sure in a book like this you can go really far with style. This is more of a game than a book, and keeping it simple is probably the safer route because in a book you read that once, the first time through, and you can afford a more careful and stylistic crafting to your words.”

She sits back and sighs, her unbuttoned blouse pulling open and you get a better view of her secret mounds, the bra pulled tight against her skin.

“In a game you need to keep it simple, because you shall never know if this is the first time someone reads a passage, the second, or the tenth time and they are just passing through to get to that choice they didn’t take last time. In general, you can get longer and more fancy with the endings than you can the beginning and middle parts, but in terms of sex, it means keeping things simple, which brings up a question of ‘does this turn me on?’ It is a fair question.”

She shifts her leg, and her already hiked up skirt pulls taut between the fit curves of her thighs. You notice through the shadow the lace pattern to her panties in a forbidden place far underneath, and she shifts her knee teasingly to block your view.

“I would say I rather enjoy these books for what they are, a fun little diversion where you keep going back to the beginning to experience the little story again and make a choice. They aren’t really great and fun games, but they are a silly and fun experiment with interactive fiction that I find a refreshing change of pace. They certain don’t replace a game or a novel in any case, and they can get tiring if all you do is skim to see all the parts.”

She smiles. “Bonus points for all the fun choices, and there is one ‘bad’ ending with a fun surprise, so I liked those Easter Eggs and little twists and turns. Very creative indeed, and those sorts of surprises put a smile on my face. There were some mid-book choices that I found were a little more tedious to reach, and it made me wonder about how to structure such a book for a better reader experience. Though if you are trying to see everything I think a little more work is needed on the reader’s part.”

She gives you a naughty look as her knee moves back the other way, giving you a look straight down her leg to a suspiciously moist spot on the lace of her undergarments. Her eyes go from innocent to a look of guilt and impassioned need.

“Don’t you think?”

THE END