Tuesday, November 30, 2010

MFM: Excerpt from Weight of Duty

As mentioned in my last post, Uniform Behaviour is newly out, and we're all doing our best to promote it, so we can make piles of money for Help for Heroes! (and well maybe a little for us hard-working writer and editor types, too!) In an effort to entice you to do just that, I've posted a little tease from my story in the anothology, The Weight of Duty. Enjoy!


Once we managed to find it, McNally's turned out to be a really nice place. It was only half full, which I had been led to believe would be impossible to find during Tattoo week, and they had a surf and turf on special for only fifteen bucks, which included an enormous whole lobster and quite possibly the most delicious steak I had ever tasted. We each got one, and a local beer called Keith's Pale Ale which turned out to be really good, too.
Lisa was really good company. In between her smart-assed comments—which, to be honest, were starting to give me one hell of a hard-on—she told me a little bit about what it was like to play in a pipe band, and how to pretend to be listening to someone when you've get heavy-duty earplugs in to preserve your sanity. In exchange, I told her a little bit about being on the gun running team, and explained that “Gunner” wasn't actually some amazing title you got for sniping enemies, but was really just the equivalent of a private in the artillery. To her credit, if she was disappointed to hear it, it didn't show.
She let me pay, which was a nice surprise, and once we made it out of the restaurant, she used the front of my shirt to pull herself up on her toes and me down low enough for her to suck me into a mind-blowing hold-nothing back devour every inch of me kiss that left me dizzy. She tasted like steak and beer, which was really fucking hot, and she smelled like lobster, which was, well...not. So did I, for that matter, and I suggested going back to my bunk to clean the fishy-smell off us. Thompson would be out getting shit-faced, as was his daily ritual, and wouldn't be back until at least 2 am, I promised.
I won rock, paper, scissors and got the first shower. The cheap motel bathroom was kind of dingy, but the water was hot and clean and fresh and felt amazing pelting my naked skin. I knew enough to bring my own body wash with me instead of hoping that the dives the put us up in provide tiny little bars of crap soap, and the rich lather on my cock and balls was almost one stimulation too many after an evening out with Lisa.
I was still debating whether a quick jerk-off was a wise move considering how close I was to coming already when she decided to join me. Clothed, Lisa was pretty fucking hot. Naked, she was like a miniature goddess or something. Every inch of her skin was the same creamy peach, there wasn't a tan line in sight. Hard pink little nipples pointed straight up from tits that were just the right size to fit in a hand each with nothing left over, which I didn't waste a minute doing, getting her as lathered and wet as I was. She didn't shave her pubes, which was a relief to me since I always felt like a creepy old dude whenever I fucked someone who was clean-shaven down there. They were blond, which explained the blue eyes, and she purred like a kitten when I soaped them up.
She pulled in close to me under the pelting water, and took my cock in her one hand, grinning up at me when she produced an unwrapped condom in the other. I leaned down to kiss her, then, guiding her arms up around my neck so I could roll it on. As nice as her hand had felt, I needed more than that right then, and I reached around to cup her ass in my hands—oh my fuck she had the most perfectly grabbable ass there ever was—and lifted her onto my cock. We kissed again, and she wrapped her legs around my waist and writhed against me like crazy but at these angles, this was just a tease. Don't get me wrong—having her moulded to me like that felt really fucking good, but there was no changing the fact that the lower half of my cock was pinned between our bodies instead of buried in hers, which is what we were both starving for.

Wednesday, November 24, 2010

Uniform Behaviour on sale now!

It's here, it's here, it's finally here! Uniform behaviour, which includes my short story "The Weight of Duty" is out for sale now! The image above takes you to the Amazon store if, like me, you're a kindle addict, or see the release announcement here for other formats!

...isn't the army boy on the cover PRETTY? 

Thursday, November 18, 2010

MicroFiction Monday Inspiration: Butch

If you've read any of this blog before, you know that I'm often looking for new inspiration to put in my less-than-stellarly-regular weekly mini-smut Microfiction Monday posts. Alison Tyler's delicious little “Flash Fuck Me” contestlings are a good example of inspiration that I use regularly. Today, I'm looking somewhere a bit different.
If you haven't heard of the amazing Sinclair Sexsmith of the Sugarbush Chronicles fame, then I suggest you remedy that situation. She is an amazing writer, educator, activist, and editor and she's got a new project. It's unnamed so far and the title is a secret, but what's not a secret is her first call in the project: Symposium #1 ~ What is butch? How do you define butch? What do you love about it? What does it mean to you?
I am not stereotypically butch. I am, even while quite overweight, shaped like a friggin' hourglass with extra curves to spare. I'm easily identifiable as female, even when I'm wearing a suit and my hair is 1” long. I have a lot of butch tendencies, though. My partner has been known to say on several occasions, in response to people who can't figure me out that “you just have to understand that she thinks like a man.” Despite my lack of outward masculinity, I have a love affair with the term butch. I think that every person alive has a masculine and a feminine side, and I'm incredibly turned on by people who ride that line between either extreme, be they femme men, butch women, genderqueers, androgynes, or anything else in that lovely big wide stripe of rainbow colour in the middle of the gender spectrum. Butches, though, are the ones most guaranteed to make me melt with their deliciousness.
I especially love it when butch is an expression of sexual abandon. Let's face it, there are a lot of genetically female people out there who don't fit the only two common labels for sexually free women: slut or whore. But damn are they ever cads, Romeos, Dun Juans, lotharios, Casanovas, or philanderers. Of course, butches are often charming, courteous gentlemen, it's just that I'm magnetically attracted to the rogues.
To me, a butch is anyone who lets the masculine side of their personality out to play, and I hope that some of them come out to play with me. And thank the gods for the butches who make me smile every time I see them walk down the street, reminding us all that gender isn't dichotomous, and it sure as hell isn't defined by the random luck of the draw that configured our chromosomes to be shaped a certain way.
In celebration of butches, and of the eloquent Mr Sexsmith's new project, this week's Microfiction's objet d'amour is deliciously butch. I hope you enjoy it!

Microfiction Monday: Trussed

Okay, I know. It's Thursday, but um... Thursday is the new Monday, right?  RIGHT? I finally have my computer back in my happy little hands, and I shall celebrate by giving you some smut. Voila!



      I know your type. You clean up nice, and you turn the charm up to 11 for everyone in the room in a skirt and heels, used to having them eat out of your hand. And why not? You're gorgeous, and smooth, and generous both with compliments and drinks. It's just your bad luck that I decided to wear the heels tonight instead of my shit-kicking stompers. Well, I say bad luck, but if we're being perfectly honest, you're looking a bit flush. I wonder— if I plucked your packer out of your jeans right now, how slick would I find the base? 

       Damn. I love it when you growl like that. Nothing like it. I could sit back and watch you struggle and fight all day, as long as I left myself a few breaks to get myself off. You look just beautiful all trussed up like that. Especially when you shoot me that look, yes that one: lust and fury and pain, all at once. Even more than I like that angry hiss when my belt hits again across the lovely curve of the back of your shoulder. I know my way around a knot, you know, you're just going to tire yourself out.

      If I let you know how delighted I am with you right now with a chuckle, will I get another growl from you? I hope so. And yet, you're still so far way from the words that will make it all stop. Machismo. I love that about you, too, my boy. Not to worry, I'm in no rush—I'm sure you'll express your regret at calling me a “little lady” sooner or later. If you want to know...I'm cheering for later.

Tuesday, November 9, 2010

A Quick Update and some Pretty!

Well, my computer is still off being repaired and it has kidnapped all of my writing with it. Yes, I do now see how much less annoying this would be if I'd backed everything up online. *sigh*

I do have some pretty for you, though!

November's issue of Safeword magazine is out with my story in it, and wow is it pretty!

Check it out here!