The Windshield Incident 2 Sneak Peek

If I had free moments they would be dedicated to Strange Bedfellows, which is this close to being finished. Free moments are naught to be found this month, so instead here's some more shit that happens to Grant. If you don't know who Grant is, click here.

Screw Ryder Vance. Never in my eighteen years had anyone ever messed with my head like that. My brain had that day at the park on loop, playing in high definition clarity during quiet moments. Ryder’s voice became a dubstep beat: “Get on your knees and give me a fucking blowjob.” “Have you ever been fucked?” “Come on my cock.” Once I found myself rapping it aloud on the bus. “Give me a, give me a, give give give give gimme a fuc-king blowjob.” Good god.

The Worst Days Ch. 2.4

More of this hot mess, because I'm definitely stalling. To read the part 2.3 click here, or start from the beginning. Again, thanks to Luz for sending me a copy of this lost tome.

Fen's mouth turned up a bit more. "If I didn't know better, I would have thought you'd done that before," he sighed. Had he been feline, he would have purred. 

I snorted. "I do not consider that a compliment."

"Mm, you should," he murmured. "I can't move."

"So now would be a good time to make a run for it?" I said sarcastically.

Fen opened a grey eye at me. "You want to run around this place with a stiff dick after what you saw today? Be my guest."

The Worst Days Ch. 2.3

At risk of biasing you against reading what I'm putting on this blog (for reading), let's just say that while you read I will be offering sacrifices to the gods of Grammar, Spelling, and Turns of Phrase, for I have sinned gravely. To read the part 2.2 click here, or start from the beginning. Again, thanks to Luz for sending me a copy of this lost tome.

By the time we reached the estate I was in real pain. Adrenaline blocks out the effects of most blows while it overtakes one's brain, but when it's gone it leaves the body in a world of hurt. Fen noticed I was slow getting out of the hoverlimo.

"Are you sure you're okay?" he asked me.

I grimaced. "I don't think anything's broken, and I'm pretty sure I was never hit in the kidneys, but that crowd sure didn't pull its punches. I blame you for all of this."

The Worst Days 2.2

Luz emailed me a complete copy of my Worst Days series. It was my first foray into erotica, so now I look back on some parts think, That absolutely sucked. Ergo I'm rewriting it. In the meantime, here's more of the original. The first chapter is here and the 2.1 is here.

My scalp prickled, but I didn't look at him. "I beg your pardon, sir?"

"Lomagnians aren't the only ones who follow space hockey," he murmured, his fingers stroking the inside of my arm. "I saw the news when you disappeared, and I stalked the auctions until I found where you were being sold." His fingers tightened and dug into the space between muscles. "I don't know how White got to you before I did. I didn't even know he was into boys."

I shrugged and concentrated on reading the menu of the food stand. I've dealt with obsessed fans before, there was even a teenage girl who stole my dirty underclothes from the locker room and sent them back to me after masturbating with them (which was just plain grungy), but it's a little bit different when the fan wants to turn you into a sex slave. Creepy was only the tip of the adjective iceberg.

Bunny Ch. 22

If you haven't read part 21, do so here. Or you can start from the beginning.

 Independence Day is a three-day-weekend, but Brandon doesn't go home. I'd like to say that he stays with me, since I volunteered to earn holiday pay at the coffee shop on Monday. It's late at night and there is a commercial for the movie Secretary. A woman crawls down a hallway with a letter in her mouth. I snort.

"It's not a bad movie," Brandon mumbles, eyes on the television. I'm sitting close to him because I let him sit down first. Our knees are touching.

I glance at him. "You've seen it?"

"It's not bad," he repeats, a little defensively. "It's more of a romance, but in kind of an artsy way. Not bad."

I am silent for a moment, contemplating every remotely sexual interaction that I've had with him. I realize that I'm the one who initiates. I kissed him first. I kissed him second. I was the one who first took his hand when we watched television together, who fell asleep on him when it got late, and who hugged him when he said something sweet. He had touched me, kissed me in return, but only after I had done so first. Any contact he initiated was in a teasing, playful way, as though daring me to go further.

I open a door. "So it's the art people telling you to free your mind and spank your partner."