Monday, May 16, 2016

Stoker Con - 2016

Stoker Con - 2016 - Held in Vegas baby!

This past weekend I had the privilege of attending Stoker Con.

Now, as you all know, I am not a horror writer...although there was this one time that I wrote a short erotic horror story, and the awesome Ray Garton critique'd it for me and told me, that I was in fact, a horror writer.

I told him he was f'ing crazy.
He thought that was funny.

But I digress...

I went to a horror writers convention this past weekend to see friends. Specifically to hang out with one of my best friends, NYT best selling author of romance and erotica, Megan Hart. Megan also writes YA horror under the pen name Em Garner.

But I also went to hang out with other horror authors that I've become friends with over the past few years. Brad C. Hodson, being my number one! (No kidding, I adore this guy, truly! Right, BLAINE?!) Bryan Shane Best, another friend I made in NOLA two years ago. I adore him and we've stayed in contact via FB since then. I even got to meet his wife, who's a total sweetheart.

I got to know, Eric Miller - I do believe we'd met before but this year we spent a decent amount of time chatting about all things books! I got to see Craig DiLouie again, which was awesome and also got to meet his gorgeous girl, Chris Marrs. John Palisano was a total sweetheart and we bonded over our mutual publisher woes.

But wait, there's more!

Andrew Wolter, a friend I'd made at least 5 years ago, who I also hadn't seen in 4 years, was there too! I ran into him walking down the hall heading to an event and stopped dead in my tracks! Andrew used to come to Sunday dinners at my house and then we'd hang on my back patio, writing and talking--okay, mostly talking, but still.

Bottom line: I love reconnecting with old friends! And I love making new ones!

Speaking of new friends...it seems Megan and I always manage to form a little con posse where ever we go. This time the two new victims were Rob E. Boley and Kerry Lipp. A couple of awesome horror writers, and all around fabulous guys!

BTW: Kerry is a saint for tolerating my grumpy, and sometimes pushy self. And said, on FB, that he'd "follow me into hell."

Here's the proof of that. Wonder if he really means it?  
Hehehe...Buckle up, Kerry!


Anyway...when I sit back and think about how awesome my life is, and how blessed I am to have such incredible people in it, I'm just in awe. Truly.

This is my life, and I get to have it. How freaking cool is that? I don't know why I get to have it, but I do know I cherish every single minute of it.

This was my 3rd horror writers convention in the past 4 years. What the hell is a romance author doing at a horror convention? Well, life just works out that way sometimes. But I have to say, I'm starting to feel the itch to maybe write some horror...

Who knows, right?
Why not, right?
We shall see what the future holds.

If anything, that little short I mentioned, titled Bed and Breakfast, will definitely be self published to Amazon in the near future, so stay tuned for that. I'll let you tell me whether or not you agree with Ray Garton's assessment. =)

For now, enjoy a little video slide show I made of the random, and a tad bit wild, pics taken over the weekend with old and new friends in this fabulous genre!





Wednesday, June 15, 2011

Perfection


He was perfection.

I saw him across that crowded bar. The walls were paneled in a light wood, tinted darker now from the years of cigarette smoke that coated them. He was someone I would never have bothered to look twice at. Too young, too pretty and yet when our eyes locked, the air between us crackled with electricity.

Something so strong passed between us in that moment. Everything around us disappeared and all I could see was him. Time had stopped and we were alone in that crowded bar, among all its patrons and their cigarettes and drinks. When he approached me and we began talking, I knew that I never wanted to stop talking to him. A bond formed in those short hours we spent, making mostly small talk, that would withstand much more than either of us ever thought possible.

And so, it began. Our greatest fantasies and our worst nightmares came true.

In spite of the intense sexual fire between us, the first touch of his tongue to mine was shy, sweet and yet still, pure heat. His hands explored my body, as if he already knew exactly what it needed. I bet he still does. I knew him as well. I still know exactly what to say, how to touch him, how to make his body ache for mine. I became his, without him ever having to ask, and he became mine.

Hours upon hours of mindless, earth shattering sex. His naked hips pressed against my backside as he bent me over my desk. Hands, rough from his work, sent tingles along my spine as he dragged them down my back. He would tangle his fingers in my hair and tug my head back as he pounded himself into me. “Such a dirty bitch,” he’d say and my body would sing in release for him. Always for him. Later he would settle between my thighs, poised above me. Our bodies were slick with sweat, a consistent result of our love making. I would wrap my legs around his hips, holding him close to me, my arms encircling his neck. “I love you,” I would whisper. A kiss, eyes wide open, staring into each other’s souls and drinking in the depths of bliss that hid there. Those slow moments of passion that lingered between us branded our hearts as he entered me. Time would stop.

With so much passion and intensity of course, there was always the fighting. A perfect mixture and it seemed we reveled in it, soaking ourselves in a desperate pool of jealousy and retaliation. Anger boiled to the surface in place of understanding and the gloves would go on. Round after round we would battle. It became our form of foreplay. After all, what’s better than make-up sex? Fucking and fighting. The best of both worlds, it was unavoidable. The fight would happen and my body would burn for him. He told me once that it was like that for him too. That I made him beyond angry, hateful even, and in those moments, all he wanted to do was fuck me. Sometimes he would. Sometimes he wouldn’t and it was the latter that would leave me with an ache in my chest that equaled the ache between my thighs. Madness.

Naturally, living together proved disastrous, another failed attempt to “make it work.” We fooled ourselves into thinking that living together would somehow make it better, easier. I’d push, as was always my nature to do, for more. Always more. “Pay attention to me!” Or “Where have you been? You’re never home with me. Fucking be here. Be with me. Choose me or fucking leave!” I would scream. He would dig his heels in and refuse to fight, which would make me crazier. Then he would just walk away. Leaving me there in my misery and seething hatred, only to come back because he couldn’t stay away. That damned connection, like some invisible tether drawing us back together. Always there. Always. As if we had no choice. No say at all in the matter.

Baffling. We had created such a warped and beautiful form of love. I loved him with all my heart, every part of my soul, and he loved me. He told me every day that he did. “Baby, I love you. End of story,” he would say. He never thought I believed him. I was so sure that we would find a way to sort through it all. To make sense of this thing between us that just wouldn’t go away, that wouldn’t die. Soon enough though, I watched him walk out the door for what would be the last time. He turned a blind eye to my tears and a deaf ear to my pleas to stay. The white paneled door of our apartment slowly closed. Its audible click rang in my ears and vibrated through my body to the soles of my feet.

Steeped in heartache and misery, I let him go, I had to. I refused to beg him to stay. Blessed anger reared its ugly head. Fuck him. Fuck the- I love you’s. Fuck the promises made. Fuck everything. I’ll live with it. All the pain, all the misery, all the memories and the God forsaken fucking ache!

Time is supposed to heal all wounds, but in my case it did not. On occasion I’m forced to see him. Our paths cross and he pretends as though he doesn’t see me. I pretend, too. I quietly watch him play at that same bar where we met. The same walls, paneled in a light wood, tinted even darker now from the years of cigarette smoke that coat them. Who is the next one in line for him? Who is the next on his list? It doesn’t really matter, they aren’t me. I realized long ago that there is no one like him. Try as we may, what we had can never be replaced, nor repaired.

In truth, he disgusts me now. When I see him flirting with another woman, or see that look he gets in his eyes that is supposed to only be for me, my anger rises and bile burns the back of my throat. That ever present heat begins between my thighs, again. Thunder booms in my chest and I am ready to tear into him. Tell him to go fuck himself and whatever floosy he’s slipping his dick into tonight. Then lightning flashes and all I want to do is fuck him, feel him fuck me like he used to. I have often wondered if he still feels like that, too. I think he would rather die before he ever admits he does.

At home, alone in my bed, my insane fantasy begins. I see it, ever so clearly, as I slip my fingers between my slick folds. If he ever dared to approach me, what would I do? My body aches at the prospect as I probe my channel, then rub my clit. I would slap his face. Yes. I’d revel in seeing the fire erupt in his eyes, knowing that his cock just got hard, for me. Always for me. I’d take his hand then, and lead him to my car, or my bed. Fuck, even a dark corner would do.

The pain would be worth it. Touching him again, feeling him slide inside me. Always had been, hadn’t it? It would destroy my very soul and yet, I’d fuck him until he screamed my name and…

For us. Always for us. We would start our madness all over again.

Because we were perfection.

Friday, March 18, 2011

Watch Me



Tell me, how do you devour me within your mind?
When you’re alone, can you feel your skin against mine?
I can sense you watching me as I dance.
I often wonder what stops you from making your move.
What keeps you rooted in your seat?
That’s it, lick your lips. Yes.
Is your mouth watering too?
Do you crave just one little taste?
I’m sweeter than a peach, some might say.
I want to know, does that make your cock ache?

Am I the star in your private fantasies?
You’ve been starring in mine for quite some time.
Center stage, it’s always the same.
You’re larger than life, settled between my welcoming thighs.
Hot lips rest on the bend of my neck.
Little nips of your teeth.
Your tongue soothes the welcome sting.
Finger tips trace designs over my flesh.
My nails dig in, tearing lines down your spine.
A low moan, yours or mine?
Your body arches and you enter my heat.
Thick and long, sinking deep.
Wrapping my legs tightly around.
Pulling you close, holding you inside.
Begging you.
Harder, harder please.

That’s it, shift in your seat.
Does your skin itch to feel my touch?
For now, watch me dance.
But tonight when you’re alone,
With your cock thick and throbbing in your palm,
Stroke it slowly, thinking only of me.
Grip it tightly, thrust your hips.
Imagine it’s my heat swallowing you deep.
When you come, scream my name.
And know, that it’s me
Who owns you.

Wednesday, December 15, 2010

Switch


Will I submit to you
Are you strong enough
To make me
Those that try never succeed
In flipping the switch in me
I’m pleading
Dominate me
It’s what I need
But be warned
I’ll smell weakness
Lingering in your mind
Then it will be you
Who submits
To me

Friday, July 16, 2010

It's Me


There you are. I’ve been waiting.
Oh please, come in. Have a seat.
No, no don’t worry about me.

Tell me baby, what is it you need?

Would you like me to…
Lick you, suck you?
Taste you, fuck you?

Whatever you want,
Asking is the key.
No need to thank me.

I’m all you need.
Just ask and you’ll receive.
No reason to worry about my needs.

I’m here for you.
Pour everything into me.
I’ll hold it all, while you’re buried inside me.

I’ll climb onto your lap.
Dig my nails in and pull your hair.
Sink my teeth into the sweet flesh of your neck.

Make you bleed.
Ride your cock.
Fuck you till you scream.

Now tell me baby, what is it you need?

Do you want me to…
Lick you, suck you?
Swallow you, fuck you?

Let me remind you of a few things…
When you’re alone and your cock is in your hand.
Just remember that it’s me.

…It’s me that you see.
…It’s me that you taste.
…It’s me that takes everything.