Kinky Bites – No Expectations

It’s been interesting here on the gulf coast reminding us that you never know what to expect out of life.  I certainly never expected to wade out of my apartment with two cats and my computer hard drive on my shoulder, but that happened. Thankfully I came back to most everything. I wish everyone had been as lucky. I did get to see the human heart at its finest in the last few weeks however. I know Houston was hit hard, but there’s a little city called Dickinson just up the road from me that was nearly wiped out. My heart aches for them and everyone rebuilding after this disaster.

Now for something a little…tastier. I said I was going to do this every Friday and I meant it.

Exhibitionism is a desire to either be watched or get caught in a sexual act. It’s a fun fetish that is easily indulged.

No Expectations

In a fit of boredom Kayla followed her friend to a swingers club only to find herself immediately regretting it. Sex with random strangers in public was definitely not her scene. That was until she came face to face with a stranger named Jack and his is ocean blue eyes tempting her to step into his world.



She held her pieces in her hands

The way that only broken can

Looking up with pleading eyes

“Help me make it through the night”

When the last one broke her tether

She put herself back together

Looking in with beauty bold

She painted in the cracks with gold

Learning not to be afraid

Understanding what life has made

She holds herself in her hands

And no one needs to understand

Meet Damien (Read at Your Own Risk)

I post here periodically when I have a new poem to share and I get noticed which is amazing. Sadly my writing comes in very short bursts like the occasional broken water line. I try to function within the ordances of a broken government most of the time I guess. It makes my momentary inspirational moments seem more like malfunctions. That needs to change. I have a few readers and maybe one of them will point me in the right direction. I need a reading community to critique my work so I can formerly submit it for publication. Obviously I am willing to reciprocate. Below is the seventy-five hundred word short story that started it all. I wrote it from the point of view of a girl, but I was so intrigued by the creature (for lack of a better word) that I kept writing. I have a whole world now that includes one “finished” book, one that is almost finished, and plans for 8 more books. I need my tribe though.

Beware. It is dark erotica and definitely not for the young or fragile (emotionally or otherwise).

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Bad B-Move Title (Serial Updated on Wednesday…Maybe)

I wanted to name this little project of mine “I Was a Teenage Zombie”, but that name is taken even if no one alive, but me knows that now. I loved every guilty minute of that movie.

Man I wish I could be watching some stupid B-Movie right now, but no, I’m creeping through what was once a mall with trees growing in it. I mean, I guess, the trees were growing there when it was still a functioning mall, but now they’ve just made it home without people to control them. Nature works quicker than I thought it would.

Oh, and I’m with this total asshole, and it’s stupid quiet.

People had no idea just how loud the world was. It’s been ten years since everything changed, and I still can’t get over it. Still, there should be something here, I mean nature still exists, and I hear absolutely nothing. Trust me, if there was something I could hear it. I decide to stop asshole from going any further because I don’t want to explain how a blind 16-year-old girl made it back, but the asshole did not. Why is the blind 16 year old even out here, and how does she know there are trees? Bad B-movie right?

His elbow is warm and rough. I can even detect the almost imperceptible rush of blood through capillaries just under the skin. Touching people is so weird. He gets the message and the slow thud of footfalls breaking the silence stops, and it’s time to just…

“That’s so creepy.” The whisper was so low most people would not have heard it.

Great! Asshole! See? I can’t even glare and roll my eyes because I’m wearing stupid sunglasses. Besides, I doubt I look intimidating. But I apparently look creepy. Whatever, asshole.

A finger to my lips seems to quell any further disturbances, and I can hear the shock in his demeanor that I heard which gives me a little pleasure, and it’s back to listening. His breath. Our heartbeats. There is no air movement because of the walls, and it’s summer now. The ceiling collapsed at some point, and the sun floods the place making the air thick. I can feel it on my face like being licked by a sloth: slow, hot and wet. It’s stifling everything and making sound weird, but there is definitely something off. The fact that I can’t hear anything else immediately is good. The monsters are few in number standing somewhere in the distance. They may be wax sculptures just waiting…listening…and not melting like we are right now. That’s what they do. They have no reason to do much else unless it’s to bite, and they do with speed that belies their form.

Asshole picked up on what I was doing. His steady heartbeat kicked up a notch, but there is still nothing matching the hummingbird pace of my heart. I looked in asshole’s general direction and shook my head. I would say I’d gone pale but I was always pale. At least that’s what I remember: shockingly red hair and pale freckled skin. This was a bad deal. It was always a bad deal. Wherever people once frequented was a bad deal, because that meant people died there. I don’t care if the drones said different.

“Goddammit!” He didn’t yell but it was loud enough.

“Shut up!” I hissed, and my head snapped in the direction of a muted crash. It was the second floor. I wondered how steady the escalators were. “We need to go.”

“Look, Stick, we need things. I thought you and your super hearing could avoid those things.”

Stick was an asshole. Why couldn’t I get super pyrokinesis and set this asshole on fire?

“Suit yourself. There are too many assholes at camp anyway.” I was smiling and he was trying to figure out what, or maybe who, he was going to shoot.  More bad choices.

There was one. I could hear it crashing through debris. It would not be able to navigate the terrain easily, and maybe the escalators would crater. It couldn’t see and it wasn’t exactly smart. Still, these things were like insects. Where there was one, there was more, and they activated and followed like ants on a chem trail.

Please kill this asshole.

I’m not sure who I was asking, but I didn’t have time to finish that thought. It took everything I had not to curl up in a ball when that howl skittered through what was left of the mall. It was something I felt, maybe more than anyone else that still had the sense to be scared of it, to my core. It was like someone just hit ten notes on Satan’s electric organ at the same time with the sound turned all the way up so the speakers cracked. I often wonder what sentient evil humans pissed off to bring this shit down on us.

Asshole didn’t even bother waiting for me. Didn’t matter. Aren’t you supposed to describe the characters in your story? No. No reason to bother when they are not going to be around long. Right now I’m wondering if that sentient evil likes me…at least a little. Is that so bad?

I turned and walked slowly out of the mall to the tune of human screams. Looks like I have some ‘splaining to do.