28 November 2013

Hot Autum Nights Blog Hop

Skinny dipping with a handsome guy late at night.  The moon full and bright, letting us see just enough before jumping into the lake.  Insects buzzing.  The smell of dogwood and wild lavender heavy in the air. It is a night for laughing, a night for loving.  A night to always remember.

I grew up in southeast Missouri where just such a thing could happen.  The leaves on trees turning gold and red, the air becoming cooler every week.  You'd need a scarf and jacket by night but during the day lying in a patch of sunlight felt like heaven.  Walking through the forest, picking up fallen pine cones and kicking leaves, hoping you don't find a snake seeking a little warmth.  There's nothing quite like autumn.

It's different now that I'm older.  I don't live where the leaves turn or where the nights get too cold.  My son doesn't take walks through the woods like I used to.  Times pass, people change, and somehow the days go by very fast.  The song Boys of Summer by Don Henley plays over and over in my head.

A couple of years ago I went with a friend of my to a music festival in upstate New York benefiting the local farmers.  I slept in a dog tent freezing my ass off because I was unprepared for how very cold the north was in late August.  But the mornings were crisp and clear and I looked out upon the rising vista and felt the world grind to a halt.  There was something enchanting and I could feel my soul calm and settle.  The night was devoted to music and dancing inside a huge barn where coffee flowed just as much as beer.  It was a fabulous time, despite the cold.

Thanks for visiting with me during the Hot Autumn Nights Blog Hop!  To win a free PDF book of any of my titles, just leave a comment and a way to contact you.  (No contact info, no win)  And please check out the others at the links below. 

27 November 2013


This is a concept I knew nothing about until I watched Queer as Folk.  My favorite character, Brian, was having an emotional crisis and started scarfing, or tying a scarf (or piece of material) around the neck while masturbating.  This is supposed to restrict the blood flow to the brain and increase the pleasure of orgasm.  

Brian: If I want to experience the joys of scarfing, what the hell business is it of yours?!

Michael: It's my business cause I'm the one that will get the call from the god damn cleaning lady who finds you hanging from the rafters with a fucking boner!

The medical/psychological term is called autoerotic asphyxiation, and its popularity is high among young males.  Accidental death has occurred due to the nature of hanging one’s self to achieve the desired sexual satisfaction.  The person looses consciousness and the self-rescue mechanism fails.  It is unknown how many suicides are actually botched attempts of scarfing but it is estimated about 250 to 1000 deaths a year.  Among famous celebrities who have died during such practice are David Carradine, Michael Hutchence, and Sada Abe.

The practice of autoerotic asphyxiation has been documented since the 17th Century and was used as a treatment for erectile dysfunction.  People noticed that males being hung would produce an erection, sometimes even ejaculating after death.  When the carotid arteries are compressed, the lack of oxygenated blood to the brain and the increase of carbon dioxide induces a semi-hallucinogenic state called hypoxia.  Combined with the euphoria of an orgasm, the rush is highly addictive.  

The thought of scarfing, for me, sounds a little like playing Russian Roulette.  I would never judge any adult who tempted fate with practicing scarfing, but perhaps it would be better to be with a partner so that if anything were to go wrong at least there is someone to help.  But then again, perhaps it’s the thought of self bondage which also heightens the pleasure. All I’ll say is just be careful of cumming while going…

25 November 2013

Topic Tuesday: Dialogue vs. Description

Do you prefer writing description or dialogue? What do you have the most difficulty with? Why do you suppose that is? What do you do to strengthen it or do you avoid it at all costs?
This week’s discussion is one of my favorites.  I’ve been waiting for this question because I love to write dialogue.  No, seriously, I do an I have been waiting for this question, or one like it.  I know, I’m weird like that.  But dialogue is one of my favorite things to write and I think I’m pretty good at it.

“I thought you were joking about the bathtub,” Jonas said, frowning as Charlotte slid back into the passenger side, once again shaking her head. This had been the fifth hotel they had stopped at.

“Why would I joke about a bathtub?”

“I don’t know. What do you have against them?”

“Do you know there are over eight hundred thousand accidental drowning deaths in a year caused by slipping in a bathtub?”

“Do you realize there’s more water in a toilet than in an empty bathtub?”

“Okay, but my body won’t fit in a toilet.”

He stared at her, one eyebrow raised.

“I’m just saying is all,” she replied, rather defensively.

“You don’t look like the type of person who has an excess fear of anything.”

“We all fear something, Jonas,” she said rather practically. “Whether it’s spiders or heights or germs. Mine happens to be bathtubs, although surprisingly, there isn’t is a technical phobia term for it.”

“Yeah, go figure,” he said deadpan.

(From my book, “Otherworldly)

I love getting inside my character’s mind and working through their words.  Most of my plot twists or plot changes come from whatever pops out of their mouth, stuff I didn’t see coming until I’m writing and…there it is.  I was at a dinner this past Saturday and when the person I was sitting next to asked if I had crazy ideas in my head all the time I immediately said, yes.  Characters talk to me all the damn time.  He tried to avoid me the rest of the night.

For me, dialogue is easy because I guess I live in my mind.  What I mean, is that I’m a badass when it comes to internal dialogue.  But as soon as I open my mouth I usually fuck everything up.  It took me a long time to get over foot in mouth disease, although I still have lapses from time to time.  I suppose that’s given me a flair to writing character dialogue.

Description, on the other hand, sucks.  It’s boring and difficult for me to stretch out what’s happening through the day.  Some authors write fabulous description.  I don’t think I’m one of them.  I struggle with it and to help I go back repeatedly to edit and add.  I have to remind myself constantly to describe what the house looks like, or what the characters look like or even what style clothes they have on. 

Dialogue is fun and it bridges the gap between thought and action.  Most of the time I wish I had a ten minute heads up so I could pre-think all of my dialogue for an evening and write it down so I don’t end up lapsing back into Did I really just say that? mode.

Topic Tuesday Blog Hop

22 November 2013

Saturday After Dark Presents....The Song Bird

One thing about being a writer is that we constantly try to find a story in everything. My mind is always going on side trips to see if a piece of information I've assimilated could or would work somehow.  Sometimes it's just a picture, or a piece of music, or a even a word. 

I am a lover of history.  My brain works well with linear timelines and facts I can memorize.  To paraphrase Dr. Who, history is a fixed time point in history.  It can't be changed, and now with the internet, even those who try to change it truth will always be around.

One period of history that always fascinated me was the California gold rush of 1849.  It was the aftermath that really captured my attention, how a city swelled from around 2000 to over 200,000 in a matter of years while dealing with all the infrastructure nightmares.  And to make matters even worse, a cholera epidemic swept through in 1855.  I was thinking Love in the Time of Cholera until I read about an interesting part of San Francisco's violent past...The Committee of Vigilance.  This was vigilante group that tried to end the violence and corruption running rampant through the city.  You had bankers and investors trying to gentrify this city suddenly thrust into fame, outlaws and criminals trying to run it, the Chinese immigrants who were rated lower than slaves, and disease.  What better time period to write a romance?

I guess the gold was a blessing and a curse.


It took only a moment for him to flip her skirts up and ease his calloused fingers up her inner thigh, sliding over her sensitive skin with feather light teasing. When he touched her curls surrounding the spot that pulsed for him the most, she was surprised that his hand didn’t get singed from the heat.
“And this,” he murmured against her ear, “is your pussy. Your delicious, wet pussy.” She meant to close her legs, but he shook his head. “No, let me. Please. Trust me, Avilon.”
Slowly, she relaxed. His finger dipped inside her curls, teasing before it found a rhythm that quickly escalated the fire in her blood.
“Feel this?” he asked as he flicked over the bud that throbbed with need. “This is your clit, and all I want to do is draw it into my mouth and suck on it until your cream flows into my mouth.”
The words enflamed her, the mental picture so stimulating that her body almost convulsed. Then he slipped another finger inside her as his palm applied just enough pressure to make her writhe. In and out he pumped with his hand, her hips mimicking as she gasped.
“Let go, love,” he whispered, and she felt his lips brushing over her cheek, her eyelids, her forehead. “You’re so much tighter than I imagined. I can just picture you clenching around my cock as you ride me.”
In and out his fingers pumped as he managed to rub her clit at the same time. Seconds later, her body tensed as waves of energy rolled over her, making her light headed. Stars exploded as every nerve ending blazed. Avilon was helpless to do anything but ride it out, humping his hand, which still tantalized  her pussy.
Every bone in her body liquefied. She would have melted onto the floor if Jason hadn’t been holding her up. Contentment filled her, and all she wanted to do was purr. When he finally withdrew his hand, she didn’t want him to leave, so she wrapped her arms around him. She felt his erection and gasped. She pulled back to stare at him with wide eyes.
“Jason? Does that…hurt?”
He gave a long-suffering little moan. “Yes, actually. All the blood seems to have drained from my brain because the only thought I have is that I want to lay you on that bed and fuck you until we pass out.”


Avilon Chambert travels to the wild city of San Francisco to find her missing sister.  All she has is a letter explaining she’s in terrible trouble and that she’s been working as an upstairs girl in a club owned by two handsome men, Eli Masters and Jason Braddock.

When she arrives at the club, the only way she can get to talk to them is by auditioning for the singing position, and she captivates them by her beautiful operatic voice.  But the answers to her questions are vague and filled with holes, rousing her suspicions.

Her arrival at the club seems to set off a chain of events filled with danger.  As she searches further for her sister, she unleashes the wrath of a madman bent of revenge, threatening to destroy everything and every one she’s come to love.



21 November 2013

What's In A Name?

'Tis but thy name that is my enemy:
Thou art thyself, though not a Montague.
What's Montague? It is nor hand nor foot,
Nor arm nor face, nor any other part
Belonging to a man. O be some other name!
What's in a name? That which we call a rose
By any other word would smell as sweet;
So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd,
Retain that dear perfection which he owes
Without that title. Romeo, doff thy name,
and for thy name, which is no part of thee,
Take all myself.

Arguably, one of the most famous scenes in literature, Shakespeare knew the art of names.  Naming a character is like naming a child.  You have to find the right combination of first and last names to match characteristics, looks, intelligence and character background.  And it can be a long process. 

Just imagine this line, “Buddy, Buddy, where for art thou Buddy?”.  It’s just doesn’t have the same impact.  Now imagine Edward Cullen.  The name ‘Edward’ has a certain ring to it, a noble quality, while the character of Edward Cullen is gentlemanly, cultivated, and distinguished.  The name fits with who he is, where he came from, and the time period he was born. 

And not only do writers have to figure all that in, but we have to be aware that some names are new creations.  For instance, the name Vanessa was “invented” by the author Jonathan Swift in the early 1700’s, so if you happen to be writing a piece set in the 1600’s then the name would be anachronistic. 

I have a hard time, just like every other writer, finding that one name that jumps out at me to define the character I have in my head.  But I tend to get my names from unusual places.  For instance, in my book Spirals, the two heroes are Tobias Noble and Orion West… which are all street names in LA County.  Even my heroine, Kaori, got her last name from a street in El Segundo, California.  In Kismet, the sequel to Spirals, Evie’s last name is a surgical instrument!  A writer will never know where inspiration will strike.

Names that have strong syllables usually bring to mind strong heroes.  For instance, John or Luke or Max.  Each name brings to mind a certain man: John Wayne, Luke Skywalker or Mad Max.  Most writers will go with a strong name over something more…odd.  Eustace probably won’t usually be a hero’s name, at least not in romance books, although he was an excellent annoyance in Voyage of the Dawn Treader!

18 November 2013

Topic Tuesday - Overcoming Obsticals

It is said that as a problem arises, so does the solution.  This week it is all about how that is true in our lives. What issues big and small have you overcome this week, month or year? Were they easy? What did you learn?
The easy answer for me would be sickness.  I've been sick for most of November and had a major relapse this past weekend.  I'm on antibiotics now so hopefully will be getting better quickly.

The harder answer?...my WIP.  I'm the type of writer that just sits down with an idea and begins to write, not knowing where the story is headed or how I'm going to get to the finish line.  Now, most of my books feature some type of mystery.  In the McKnight, Perth & Daire trilogy I had to come up with three different murders.  I watched a lot of murder shows on Investigation Discovery much to the concern of my boyfriend.  

For this trilogy I'm working on, I've taken on a huge heap of "What the hell am I doing?" and thrown a little "What the hell was I thinking?" in with it.  It's a cross between Sons of Anarchy and Longmire, and all are MFM.  So, since I am a complete pantser I've been trying to figure out how to end book two...because I'm almost to the point of finishing it but have no clue how to do that.  And, of course, my rough draft is due by the end of the month.

(Yes, I would like a little cheese with my whine)

But I'm like this with every book I write.  I set my brain into overdrive thinking about the damn ending.  They say keeping your mind active staves off dementia so I'm keeping my fingers crossed.

So, what have I learned...?  Time stands still for no one, even when your sick.  I mean, I just made (and broke) my New Year's Resolution!  I'm going to be forty-one next month and I can't believe that.  I feel like I'm still twenty!  I guess that's good. I've noticed my heroes have moved into a different age bracket and I think actors like Zac Effron and Josh Hutcherson are just babies.  Maybe I'll write a Cougar story. 

I wish this post could be something full of enlightenment, but alas, it's just musing along.  Thanks for reading!


Topic Tuesday Blog Hop

15 November 2013

Saturday After Dark Presents "True to Her Heart"

Some may know that back in 2004 I lived in Paris, France, with my boyfriend Brian for four months.  In that time, I wrote Black Leather Pants, which would become my first published novel five years later.  But I also wrote 32 pages of another story that eventually became True to Her Heart

TtHH was based on certain events that happened when Brian and I got to Paris, as well as my own voyeuristic encounter.  The first apartment we rented was a shithole so the company offered us another.  We loved the new tiny apartment located on the sixth floor (with no elevators), located right off Rue de Magenta.  And the living room window looked down into the bathroom of my neighbor.  I didn't realize this until one night I was looking at the moon and my very handsome neighbor decided to take a shower.  Now, I realize this was very naughty of me, and it probably was very wrong.  But in my defense, this man had to have known that someone could see him.  The window was too fracking large.  My boyfriend still maintains I was wrong to do this but I bet if it was a naked woman, he'd been watching with binoculars.

So while the voyeurism was correct on my part, he didn't masturbate like Shane does for Molly.  Darn.

His tight butt had been sculptured by angels because it was so heavenly. Nice, round, firm, she saw the tattoo on his hip curled around to incorporate most of the cheek. It made her want to lick it, to trace the design with her tongue and maybe not stop until she swallowed him down. She’d never been a blow job type of girl but with this man all she pictured was her on her knees in front of him.
Turn around, damn it!
As if reading her thoughts, the man stepped out of his pants and then slowly, ever so freaking slowly, turned. He gripped his cock and jerked casually on it and Molly felt her mouth falling open in wonder. He was huge. Not hung like a horse huge, thank god, but he could easily be a porn star if he wanted. His cock was long and thick and she couldn’t take her eyes off it. Him.
Oh god!
He reached over and squirted something in his hand and then she saw him start to masturbate in front of her. He made sure to keep his eyes open, watching her as she watched him, and it was the most erotic thing in her life. Ever. Hands down. Better than all the romance books she read and certainly better than watching HBO.
Her body literally throbbed. Her clit throbbed. Her heart throbbed. Even her blood throbbed through her veins. She wanted to touch herself so bad. Would it be wrong to pleasure herself while watching him pleasure himself? Somewhere all the lines of what was right and wrong blurred and her brain screamed at her to do it, slide her hand into her pants and rub herself until she climaxed.
And then she realized while she was arguing with her brain her hand had already done it. She lightly touched her clit and her body arched as mind-numbing desire speared through her.
She watched as the man tugged on his nipple rings, twisting them a little, which caused his eyes to close for a second. She imagined they had to be a big turn on for him and she’d loved to do that for him, to suck on those rings as he thrust that huge cock up inside her. He opened his eyes again and pinned her with their silvery depth. She saw fire in them, lust. He wanted her and it made her heart pound heavily with the revelation.


 Everyone in her hometown knows that Molly Evain is shy. As a librarian she relates to books better than to people. Quiet, reserved, demure...all words people use to describe her, including her boyfriend. But when he pops the big question, Molly realizes she doesn't want to be those adjectives anymore. What she doesn't know is if she's able to change since she suffers from panic attacks and agoraphobia. In order to give herself time before answering, she decides to take an impromptu vacation to Paris.

A chance encounter puts her in the path of not one, but two handsome men. Rookery Jones is a hockey heartthrob, on vacation to find relaxation and anonymity in Europe. Shane Gordon is the man she is having a voyeuristic romance with through her hotel window. When she realizes both men are best friends and she’s whisked to the French countryside, Rookery and Shane come to terms that they are both falling for the same girl.

But their lives are disrupted by the media attention of their relationship, and Molly doesn’t know if she’s strong enough to handle the attention and publicity. Does she run away, knowing that if she does, she could lose both the men she’s come to love?

Where to buy:  http://www.bookstrand.com/true-to-her-heart
Pre-order now and save 10%!

11 November 2013

Topic Tuesday - Ideal Writing Situations

This week's blogging assignment: Okay, every writer has an ideal situation to write in. What's yours? Specific room? Specific view? Surrounded by what things? Listening to music? If so, what kind? Where do you get the most inspiration for your creative impulses? Describe it. Be specific. Cite examples.

I have been very lucky to have the opportunity to be a stay-at-home mom and pursue writing as a career.  My seven year old is my best friend so when he’s home I spend a lot of time being with him.  That gives me about five hours, while he’s in school, to write (and other things like exercise and/or errands). 

And because I tend to cater to my son (yes, he’s a spoiled mama’s boy) he gets the TV all night long, allowing me to watch Pixar or Dreamworks moves over and over and over again.  Yes, I can quote all of Cars and Madagascar 3.  So, when I sit down to write, I take my laptop into the living room, make three large cups of Earl Grey tea, put on my shows and write.  I’m able to concentrate on both things at the same time and it’s like the television noise makes all my focus a little sharper. 

If I’m not watching TV shows then I pull up YouTube and put on soundtracks.  I like listening to emotional music, sometimes to Enya, sometimes to Blackmore’s Night (which, is a type of Renaissance/Folk Art band). 

Music is one of my number one inspirations for ideas.  While a lot of writers have a playlist for a book, I usually have just an inspirational song that I listen to over and over again to stay in my character’s mindset.  As I mentioned in one of my previous blogs,  one of my favorite bands is Linkin Park.  I’m in the middle of writing an MC trilogy (motorcycle club) that’s a cross between Sons of Anarchy and Longmire.  For the first book, the signature song was “Wanted” by Hunter Hayes.  For the second, I went with “If I Didn’t Have You” by Thompson Square.  (Two fabulous songs if you haven’t heard of either one, although if you hate Country you might want to skip.)

This year, 2013, I was able to publish eight novels.  So I guess, for me, my work ethic is working! :-)
Topic Tuesday Blog Hop

08 November 2013

Saturday After Dark Presents - In A Chord


People often ask me what’s the hardest thing about writing a romance and I always answer it’s the sex scenes.  A writer has to make sure the scene is both romantic and hot, and sometimes that’s a very tall order, especially when sexy is the last mood you’re feeling.  This week I’ve been hit with a cold and my head has felt twice as large as it is.  I’ve had headaches, sinus pressure and a stopped up nose.  The absolute last thing on my mind is sex.  But…my characters on the other hand, well, those three people are awfully horny.  And so today I had to create a great sex scene.

In my book, In a Chord, I started the whole thing off with a bang.  No, really, the two guys are banging away in a closet right before they’re set to go on stage.  That scene set the whole pace of the story where Keaton and Ash have been lovers for a long time and suddenly Keaton brings Momo into the mix, hence the title. 

This was my first attempt at writing a bit of suspense into a story and it might reflect that a little, but I still enjoyed writing Momo.  She’s half punk, half goth and all music.


The band on stage was reaching its crescendo, and Ash started thrusting his hips faster, knowing they had only seconds left.
“Fuck me, Ash,” Keaton ground out, sweat starting to bead on his forehead. The closet might have been small and intimate, but there was no ventilation. “You like pounding my ass? You like my puckered hole squeezing your cock so tightly?”
“Keaton…God!” Ash’s rhythm stuttered.
Keaton felt him swell and then the hot splash of Ash’s cum as he lost control. He reached down to tug his own cock, but Ash beat him, fisting him and milking him in time with his own squirts of passion. It was too much, too raw and powerful. Just as the music crashed, so did Keaton. He cried out as he let himself succumb to Ash’s warm hand and the hot breath on the back of his neck.
The two slumped over, Keaton with his forehead against the wall and Ash against his back. Their breathing was harsh, labored, as their hearts raced.
“I want you to go on stage and perform with some of me inside of you,” Ash murmured into his ear. “As it runs down your legs and only you and I will know it’s there.”



Keaton Gates and Ashland Lance are lovers and musicians in a band called Endymion.  Keaton believes there is something missing, not only from the sound of their music, but also in their lives.  When he hears Momo Willows singing Endymion’s signature song, he knows she’s the muse he’s been waiting for.

At first, Ash Lance is jealous of the new girl in Keaton’s life until he meets her.  Momo is unlike anyone he’s ever met and they soon discover that they connect on many levels.  But he’s reluctant to take her away from Keaton just as Momo refuses to come between them.

Keaton is quick to assure them he wants all three of them to learn to be in a ménage relationship, but as they learn how to live and love together, another threat is moving between them, threatening to take Momo away…forever.

07 November 2013

Book Review - The Boundless Deep

The Boundless Deep by Kate Brallier

 Every once in a while I read a book that just captivates me and stays with me lost past THE END.  These types of books I wish never ended because they are so wonderfully written, and The Boundless Deep is just such a book.

I read this book several years ago and I have it in my personal library.  For those of you who've read my past reviews, this is a high honor indeed because paper books now-a-days are damned expensive, so I only buy the ones that are truly magical. 

This is a love story that crosses the division of death into the realm of reincarnation.  Set amidst the era of whaling in Nantucket, it is told superbly in first person narrative.  I happen to love first person because it immediately puts me into the character's shoes and I love becoming the heroine of the novel.  Now, this review might have a bit of spoilers in it but I'll try not to give too much away.
 Liza has had dreams of whaling her whole life, despite never having been to the ocean.  So she jumps at the chance to spend the summer working in Nantucket with her roommate and friend.  She has the idea that somehow she can disprove how accurate her dreams are, but quite the opposite happens.  Not only can she spout facts about sailing, she can identify even the most obscure piece of equipment.  Her dreams have revved up a notch as well.  Every night she dreams of Obidah Young, a whaling captain from the 1840’s accused of murdering his wife.
Liza’s summer in Nantucket is filled with work and romance.  She meets Adam, a museum guide, who has his doubts about her reincarnation theory.  There is also Lucian, who uses his sharp tongue to defuse the sexual tension between him and Liza.  The book is filled with memorable characters that help Liza solve the mystery of her dreams of who she used to be. There is a twist to the story, one I won't reveal, but it had me guessing up till the end.
Ms. Brallier does a terrific job of differentiating between Liza of 1840 and present day by changing how she “talks” in the dreams, from very formal to modern day slang.  But beyond how well this story is brought together, what really captures the reader is Nantucket itself.  The author really did her research on bringing to life the city of old.  It's made me put Nantucket on my wish list of places to visit, to find all the spots she wrote about and pointed out in the novel.

Fans of paranormal romance won't be disappointed this one, even though it doesn't have vampires and werewolves.  I've always been fascinated about past lives so the mystery surrounding Obidah and Liza really packs a powerful one two.  This is one of those books that beautifully blends a mystery, a romance, a historical and a paranormal all in one.  

**Also, this book is a companion to Ms. Brallier's first novel, Seal Island.  The main characters from that novel make a cute appearance in this one. 


Grad student Liza has long been plagued by vivid dreams of whaling. Offered the chance to trade her land-locked existence for a summer on Nantucket, the well-preserved heart of New England’s whaling trade, Liza jumps at the chance, eager to see how well her dreams mesh with historical reality.
The answer is: all too well. Liza’s dreams become highly sexual; her visions of ship’s captain Obadiah Young grow increasingly intense. At times the past and present mix before her eyes, with automobiles replaced by horse-drawn carriages. 
Though skeptical of Liza’s claims of a past life, whaling museum curator Adam is drawn to Liza’s intense desire to know the truth—about herself, and about Obadiah, accused of murdering his beautiful, young wife.  But Adam isn’t the only man with an interest in Liza—handsome Lucian, whose home Liza is sharing for the season, has designs on her as well. 
In a single summer, Liza must answer the riddle of her dreams, reunite lovers separated by death, solve a hundred-year-old murder . . . and figure out her heart’s desire.

Buy Link:  

06 November 2013

Welcome Julez S. Morbius- For the Love of Leon

Leon wanted the same thing everyone else wants: a loving relationship lasting beyond a few weeks. All he’d ever been able to find, however, was a few weeks hot on sex, but cold on romance. The day he walks into the local pub and sees a newcomer sitting by the window, he hopes his luck is about to change.

As he and Simon spend time together, Leon realizes not everything is as perfect as he’d thought it would be. Experiencing love also means experiencing the ups and downs of a new relationship.

When Simon tells Leon they need to talk, Leon is forced to wonder... is he going to be unlucky in love yet again?

Chapter One
Sitting in the park enjoying the scorching sun, my attention was drawn to the couples there. Lying around, walking hand in hand, they were everywhere. I found myself wishing life had been kind enough to grant me a relationship like theirs. It wasn’t as though I hadn’t tried to have something like that in my life. I’d done everything to find the right person and settle down. But they had all been meaningless, intense passion and nothing else, fizzling out after months, sometimes weeks. Try as I might, no one I had ever met seemed to want to commit to a long-term relationship. Don’t get me wrong, the sex was fucking great, always the star of a relationship, but some nights I would have liked someone to go out with. A meal, the cinema, or even a concert, and then home like a loving couple. Someone who didn’t just want to fuck, but someone who liked to kiss and cuddle, someone to wake up with and make breakfast for.
Just watching the crowds started to get me down and I stood up, making my way out of the park, aimlessly wandering to anywhere I didn’t have to stare at all the happiness around me. Staring in shop windows at fancy designer gear I could easily afford, but had no reason to own, pissed me off even more. I made my way to a small bar by the river I knew wouldn’t be over-crowded with more couples.
Once there, I ordered a pint and sat outside by the river’s edge, just watching the barges trundle by and the handful of fisherman desperately trying to outdo each other with their catches. Smiling to myself, I felt a lot more relaxed than I had at the park and as the afternoon drew toward evening, I started to think about the long walk back through town to my apartment. I knew I couldn’t put it off, even though I would happily have stayed where I was, watching the world drift by forever. I drained my glass and headed back into the bar. As I leaned over to set my empty pint on the counter, I saw him, sitting alone by one of the windows. Suddenly leaving seemed like the last thing I wanted to do. I situated myself on a barstool, ordered a coke, and tried not to look like I was watching him, only glancing over every now and again.
I guessed him to be around thirtyish, half a dozen years or so younger than me, and I was instantly drawn to how impeccably dressed he was. Unlike a lot of the males in my town, he wasn’t in torn jeans, combat-style trousers, or t-shirt. Instead, he was wearing black dress trousers, a light blue long-sleeved shirt which was unbuttoned at the neck, and well polished shoes.
Not only was his dress nice, but the way he looked was as well. Slightly tanned, shaved with just a hint of light brown stubble, and neatly styled, not too long or too short, brown hair. A small, gold sovereign ring adorned his left little finger, and a diamond earring sat in his left earlobe.
As I watched him, I noticed he never turned to face the rest of the pub. He kept his eyes firmly on the window as though waiting for someone, sipping from his glass.
Now although where I lived was classed as a city, it wasn't much bigger than a large town. Every time someone new appeared, they always drew attention. This man was no different, I noticed, for I wasn’t the only person keeping a close eye on him.
On the opposite side of the bar were a group of the local, so called, ‘hard’ men. They were also keeping their eye on this new stranger and seeing as I knew them as well as I did, I knew their reason would be totally different from mine.
For a few minutes I continued to shift my gaze between the stranger and the thugs, and as they stood up to leave, I decided I had a decision to make. I could either let the man leave, knowing full well the thugs would be waiting for him to step outside the pub, or I could go over, introduce myself, offer to buy him a drink, and maybe get to know him.
Keeping my eye on the man to make sure he didn’t just get up and leave, I called the barman over.
“Get me another coke please, and whatever he’s drinking.”
“Are you sure? He’s having double scotch.”
“Yeah, that’s fine.”
I paid for the drinks and took both glasses over to where the stranger was sitting.
“Hope you don’t mind, but I saw you alone and got you another,” I said, placing the scotch on the table.
“Oh thanks, that’s very kind of you.”
“Well, you’re new in town and I just thought it would be nice for someone to welcome you.”
“Don’t get too many places like that nowadays.”
“I know, but I remember what it was like when I first moved here,” I told him. “My name’s Leon by the way.”
“I’m Simon, but you can call me Si. Won’t you join me?”
“Thank you,” I said, sitting on the small stool by the table opposite Si. “So are you just passing through?”
“Hopefully I’m going to buy a place, if the property prices here aren’t as outlandish as the last two towns I looked in.”
“I guess that depends on what you are looking for.”
“Ideally a two bedroom apartment, or house if possible.”
“There’s a fair few of those at the other end of town,” I told him. “Is it for just you, or do you have a family that will be joining you once you have found a place?”
“Just me. I have no family.”
“Oh sorry, I didn’t mean to pry,” I replied, lowering my head, slightly embarrassed at my clumsy attempt to find out more about him.
“No need to apologize, you weren't to know.” He lifted his hand to wave away my apology. For the next few minutes the two of us sat there sipping our drinks, when Si finally broke the silence.
“So tell me, Leon, what do you do around here? My guess is there’s not much in the way of employment to be had.”
“No there isn’t, but I’m lucky enough to work from home as a graphic artist.”
“Wish I could work from home. Mind you, I wish I had a home, but it’s too late to find something now, I guess.”
“I wouldn’t say that. You did happen to choose the one place in town that does bed and breakfast.”
“Ah well that’s lucky then! Would you give me a moment to get set up?”
I watched Si walk over to the bar and begin chatting with the barman. I found myself staring intently at his muscular physique and firm ass, hoping, praying he was gay and wondering what my chances would be with him if he was.
“Thanks for letting me know. He only had one room left,” He sat back down, draining his glass.
“No worries.”
“So, apart from saying you wanted to give me a warm welcome to your small town, what was the real reason for buying a stranger a drink?”
“No other reason,” I lied. I couldn’t tell him the truth, not now that he was thinking of moving to the town. I wanted him to feel welcome, not frightened off by potential danger from local thugs.
“Well maybe I can return the favor another day,” Si smiled. “How about tomorrow? I’ll buy you lunch.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I know I don’t, but I want to.”
Being asked to lunch by the hottest guy I had seen for ages seemed too good to be true, and I felt my cheeks begin to flush with embarrassment.
“Okay what time?” I mumbled under my breath before repeating myself a lot clearer.
“Why don’t you meet me here about one? Gives me time to have a look around at property.”
“One it is then,” I said, then drained my glass. “Anyway, I better go and let you get settled. Besides, I have a design I have to finish tonight.”
“Oh okay, see you tomorrow then,” Si replied sullenly, and I was sure I could see a look of disappointment in his eyes at the thought of me leaving. But work was work, bills had to be paid, and anyway the date for the next day was arranged and by now I knew the thugs would have finally given up waiting, calling it a night as well. As I stood up, Si offered me his hand and I gave it a gentle shake instantly noticing how soft his skin was. I turned and headed out into the night, a slight smile on my face. If he does hang around I am definitely going to get to know him a lot better, I thought. I walked past where the group of thugs had been hanging out, the cigarette butts and discarded beer cans giving them away, and I continued toward my place.

About the author

Julez S. Morbius is the pseudonym of an engaged father to nine children, four of his own and five stepchildren. He is also partially disabled, having been born with a neurological condition that has caused his nervous system to deteriorate over the years and finds writing to be the way to express his feelings, and fantasies.
Having been writing for less than five years, Star Search, published by Naughty Nights Press in November 2011, was his first release. This was followed by an appearance in the gay male anthology The Boy's Club, also published by Naughty Nights Press, where he had two stories, Opposites Attract and Room for Two.
His second stand-alone release, Addicted to Charlie, came out in June 2012, quickly followed by Naughty Hot Shots - Reunited at a Reunion, which earned him his first ever bestseller certificate from his publisher, NNP, and then shortly after that his next Transgender release, Naughty Hot Shots - Top Of The Class, which earned him yet another silver star at All Romance Ebooks on the very first day.
Julez has several stories, both gay male and transgender, currently on the editing table of his publisher that he hopes will be out to his fans shortly. A recent surgery to assist him in his mobility has added to the unfortunate delayed releases, but now that Julez is on the mend he has jumped back into the wonderfully busy process of working with his editor to cultivate his upcoming works.
Julez now considers writing to be his main occupation, and continues to write, mainly in gay male, transgender and cross dressing genres.

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04 November 2013

Topic Tuesday - Why do you want to write?

 "Why do you want to write?"
This is the question for Topic Tuesday and we are asked to write at least 500 words.  Now, when I first saw this question I had an answer on the tip of my tongue: Because I have to.  It’s like asking a painter why paint.  Or asking a musician why create music.  With no disrespect to those creative mediums, writing is a completely different type of art that needs a specific brand of magic to come alive.  It’s easy to put words to page.  It’s damn difficult to make those pages come alive.

Like many authors I began reading at an early age and creating my own take of those stories.  I loved Encyclopedia Brown, Charlotte’s Web, and Superfudge.  When I was eleven I picked up my first romance, a Harlequin Presents novel titled Web of Silk by Yvonne Whittle.  It was set in South Africa and it swept me away with love and romance and happily ever after.  I knew at that moment that’s what I wanted to do, to create these beautiful love stories. 

At first, I wrote for myself.  I am an introverted person so I relate better to people within a book rather than people.  Happily ever after makes sure I never feel the sting of heartbreak, betrayal, and rejection.  I dreamed up story ideas that benefited me, that made my ordinary humdrum life exciting.  I could travel to the Wild West, to South Africa, to England or be on a pirate ship with a swashbuckling handsome pirate with a heart of gold. 

As I got older, the thought of being a writer for a living was like traveling to the moon.  Impossible.  I told my ex-husband once what I wanted to do and he laughed at me.  But despite that, I kept writing because 1) the character voices inside my head wouldn’t shut up and 2) I couldn’t not write.  I was horrible, of course, but who isn’t when they first start out?  I had moved into the world of fan fiction, mainly because I was into Star Trek and worked conventions.  Fan Fiction back then was printed booklets that cost $5.  That was my first taste of having people read what I created and it was a fucking rush!  I made no money, of course, but I didn’t care.  People were reading what I wrote! 

I kept at it.  But now my marriage had crumbled and I moved to Los Angeles.  And then something amazing and wonderful was invented and it changed my impossible dream.  It was the Kindle.  Of course, I dismissed it, much like I did Madonna when I saw her very first video on MTV and thought she was never going to last.  Good thing I don’t like to gamble, eh? 

In 2004 my boyfriend and I had lived in Paris (France) and it was during that time when I wrote my first erotica novel, Black Leather Pants.  It wasn’t an erotica romance at first.  I had no idea what that was until I read a Maya Banks book, but after that eye opening revelation, I knew what BLP was missing, so I rewrote, took a chance and in 2009 Siren accepted my book for publication.

Now, the stories are crowding my brain and I have a whole list of “story ideas” in my computer files.  Now that I’ve finally found my path, the voices are screaming to be written. 

So why do I write?  I write for myself.  I write for the tired and weary nurse just coming off a twenty hour shift and needs to forget about the patient she lost.  I write for the mother of three who can’t seem to find a breath until she lies down at night to read herself to sleep.  I write for the soldier who needs a moment of escapism from the reality around her.  I write for the wife whose husband works all the damn time.  I write for anyone who craves romance.
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