Word Count: Zero
For the first time on this blog, a story has emerged that is not from an old idea.
That means, this year, I can participate in NaNoWriMo without thinking that I'm cheating.
However, I'm still cheating.
I have begun the outlining process (since September 17th) and will have a guide to the story. The difference in this outline is that it's super intensive. I didn't jump in and start writing this one with a half baked idea with nowhere to go. It makes me feel like a professional or something.
If the schedule goes well, I'll have everything I need to begin on November 1st. I may have everything ready before then and start writing. My goal is to only have one update for the story, which will be during Thanksgiving. If I can complete this goal, I can prove to myself that writing a novel in 30 days is doable.
When I set out on my writing adventure my goal was a release every 30 days.
That doesn't work for me.
Since then, I've learned a lot about myself and my writing. I hope you'll see improvement in this next story!
A Destitute Duke
The Heirs & Spares (Book Two)
Patricia A. Knight
Captain Duncan Worthington Everleigh had committed his life to king and country.
When he returns to London in 1814, a startling revelation about the legitimacy of his brother the Duke alters his future.
No discovery could be more life-changing than what he feels for Lady Florence Lloyd-Smith. To protect her, no sacrifice is too great, even if it costs him her love.
Too headstrong, independent, and beautiful for her own good, the widow Lady Lloyd-Smith isn’t the carefree lady of leisure she pretends to be. She has pulled herself from bitter poverty and through careful investment has amassed a substantial fortune. She has little time for men who treat all women as bubble-headed nodcocks or consider her tarnished because she’s in trade. She has little need for men at all, until she meets Captain Everleigh. The violence of her love for him leaves her trembling.
Captain Duncan finds in Lady Florence a woman he can love with unchecked passion. Lady Florence finds in Captain Duncan a man who will love, honor, and protect her, even if it’s from himself.
We can expect at least one more book from the series being as Ned's story (the youngest brother) won't be left out. I'm excited to read it on its release!
Strong women in a Regency Romance? The hell you say! But, yes please!
Florence is an unconventional widow living in a man's world with a head for business but no backing to expand into an opportunity overseas, becoming stuck in mediocrity. Ahhhh... a socialite's life problems.
Duncan figures he's a military man for life, until a family scandal reveals him as the heir to the Everleigh estate.
These two destined to be together meet when Florence feints into the arms of Duncan due to the injuries of his military companion. Duncan is immediately disgusted by the delicate waif.
And so the enemies to lovers begin!
If you are like me, and are captivated by learning new words and want to know the meaning of Regency slang and terms, bring your old dictionary and be prepared to learn! Or at least flip to the back of the book to the index. I'd buy the print specifically for this because I went back and forth, giddy at the latest insults I can fling at the Renaissance Faire (trust me, only the carnies that work there will know the History of these words).
However, if you are not a word sleuth never fear! Patricia's style of writing makes it easy to go with the flow. You will not need a dictionary because you will understand the meaning by her word placement.
Like the first book, this is another well researched masterpiece.
Charming, true to the Regency times and it's different type of lifestyle. Women had different problems then.
Strong characters carry this love story with laughter, tears and a happy ending! Be prepared for a ride that keeps you wanting more.
I would Recommend this to Readers of:
*there is one short sex scene that is not all that explicit
“Oh! Are you a spy?” Vivid blue eyes met his, and the slight woman in his arms shifted. “I am quite recovered. Please put me down.”
Duncan set his burden on her feet and stepped back to put the length of an arm between them. “Captain Duncan Everleigh, 12th Light Dragoons,” he said in a clipped voice.
“Lady Florence Lloyd-Smith.” The dark-headed beauty dipped into a slight curtsy. “So…are you a spy?” She studied him with open, lively curiosity as the men resumed their brisk walk down the manor’s carriageway—and she trotted beside them to keep up.
He frowned. “I would be a very poor one should I confess it.”
She gave a moue of disappointment. “Pity. Except for Lord Miles, who belongs to Eleanor, every gentleman I know is commonplace. Had you been a spy, it should have injected a moment of intrigue into my ordinary life, and I might have been tempted to further your acquaintance, perhaps so far as to allow you to call upon me in London.” Her voice became breathless and forced. “It should have enlivened the daily routine.” Her audible breathing came in rapid pants.
At his side, his half-brother laughed softly and offered a mild reproach. “I beg pardon, Lady Florence, but with all due respect, might I observe that the life you declare commonplace others would deem adventuresome in the extreme.”
Their conversation went uncomprehended. Her astoundingly arrogant assertion that she might “allow him” to call upon her, staggered him such that he might as well have been deaf to any further dialogue.
“You might have been tempted to further my acquaintance!” Duncan broke in with a loud snort and walked a little faster. By God, who did she think she was to infer he couldn’t fix her interest—if he chose to. Women routinely made themselves nuisances over him. He had to drive them away. He could hold her attentions—if he cared to. He didn’t. At the moment he had two priorities—Major Leeland Abernathy and the War Office. “But should I have welcomed yours? If you routinely engage in fainting spells in the midst of a carriageway, drawing attention away from a man who lies in sore need of medical care, you must be a vexatious and cumbersome female. Such hen-witted behavior would put off even the most sympathetic host or hostess and cannot be a character recommendation to any gentleman.” Duncan received an annoyed sideways glance as she picked up her skirts higher and increased her trot to almost a run as she scurried to keep up with the long, brisk strides of the gentlemen.
“My actions today were an exception. I am not the fainting type, which you would know if you knew anything about me, at all…which you don’t. Such quick, ill-informed judgment of another’s nature does not reflect well on yours, sir.” She inhaled in large draws to catch her breath as Duncan quickened his step yet again. “Regardless, I will make allowances for your rude behavior as you are probably distressed for your friend. Now…” She paused her speech for several gasping breaths as she exerted herself to keep up. “You side-stepped my question. Are you a spy?”
Well…he wasn’t about to address that subject with her. Duncan caught the attention of Miles, not hard to do as his brother observed the hostile exchange of words between Lady Florence and him with lively interest and an expression that suggested their discourse provided him high entertainment. “Is there someone who can go for a surgeon?”
“Yes, I’ll send a rider straightaway.”
He and Miles, with the bent over and gasping, but mercifully silent, Lady Florence Lloyd-Smith—there was a God in heaven—reached the forecourt of the manor house. A party of laborers and the property steward, a man introduced to Duncan as Mr. Welborn, greeted them. Lord Miles issued a number of quiet, concise orders and shortly a rider left at a gallop to fetch the surgeon while four men trotted down the carriageway with a door taken from the carriage house. A groom took the reins of Major Abernathy’s grey and his bay from Lord Miles and led the two horses to the stables.
Duncan clasped his half-brother on the shoulder. “Thank you. I greatly appreciate the calm dispatch with which you have dealt with what must be an upsetting development. It cannot be every day a man lies bleeding in the middle of your drive.”
Lord Miles shrugged off his thanks with a half-smile. “Add the unforeseen appearance of a brother I had feared dead and some unanticipated news my wife imparted to me earlier this morning,” he smiled broadly, “I’m to be a father... and yes, I’ll confess this day has been…out of the ordinary way.” Miles shook his head as if to clear his thoughts. “We will do our best for Major Abernathy… My memory didn’t deceive me, that is Major Leeland Abernathy?”
Duncan nodded. “Yes. It is important that I get to the War Office as soon as may be possible, but I don’t wish to leave Leeland until I know he is out of harm’s way. Oh, and all felicitations, on your good news.” Duncan smiled. “It really is good to see you, Miles.”
“Ah… thank you… I think between the Dowager Duchess, Lady Miles and Dr. Hickum—he’s the surgeon—Major Abernathy will have as good a chance as any man at a full recovery.”
Duncan opened his mouth to thank his half-brother yet again, but he was forestalled by a haughty female sniff.
“Though no one has inquired, my person is much recovered. I must change my gown. I fear it is badly soiled. After which, I am going to the dining room to finish my coffee. If anyone needs me, though I can’t imagine why anyone should as Eleanor and Her Grace have things well in hand, I can be found there.” Lady Florence bestowed a winsome smile on Lord Miles. With a curt nod of the head at Duncan, she turned smartly, and, there was no other way to describe it, glided off, head held high, with a decided sway to her hips.
Lord Miles followed Lady Florence’s departure with a quizzical look. “I can’t imagine what…” He shook his head. “I’ve never seen Lady Florence in such ill-humor. She is normally most pleasantly disposed.”
In spite of his irritation with the woman, Duncan’s eyes were drawn to the curvaceous body undulating beneath the sheer white muslin garments Lady Florence wore, now blown by the wind into hugging every swell of generous breast, tiny waist, and round buttock, of shapely thigh and trimly turned calf. “I’ve been too long without female company if I’m attracted to that mettlesome bit,” he muttered and turned toward the carriage drive to observe the progress of the four men who now carried the major toward the manor house, accompanied by Her Grace and Miles’ wife.
Lady Alene and the Widower
I have a set blog schedule.
On this schedule are free stories for my readers.
Right now, that story is supposed to be Jack the Bodice Ripper.
But as I went in and tried to edit this older story I realized how far I've come in my writing. Long gone are the days that I can be happy starting a story only to let it wander and lead me. The endings come much faster in my mind. It's now the middle that gets muddled.
The start and finish of my stories are now getting a completed structure─aka a written plot. In the mix of ever warring "plotting" vs. pantsers, I find I'm waxing toward the plotting side.
Take in mind, and at the vehement denial of pantsers, plot is what makes a story cohesive. I think what some panters are afraid of is plotting can be formulaic. But if you know how to avoid that, plotting can make a story go faster, gets written efficiently and if you pay attention, plotting is pantsing with organization.
Why am I explaining all this?
Because I went back to Jack the Bodice Ripper and realized─this story was built on the old way I told stories. The meandering. The aimlessness.
Also, I think most of it is lost in scrivener that I no longer have access to. *Mental note* scrivner only transfers over to another computer once. oops.
But I have other stories.
Stories that don't get read often.
Stories that have been forgotten in the green pastures of Amazon.
Stories that deserve to be read but I am unable to market because of time.
Plus, this is a great way to hook you in and read more of S.N.McKibben and support an author!
So, while I'm out fixing Jack the Bodice Ripper, I've got a short 5K story for you! If you like it, have a dollar and want to support me, you can purchase Lady Alene and the Widower on Amazon.
If not, no big. But you'll have to read it on this website. However, it will be available any time. I appreciate your support and am putting it out there for your enjoyment while I get my shit together for the blog. Happy Reading!
Copyright © 2012 S.N. McKibben
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted, with the exception of a reviewer who may quote passages in a review, without written prior permission from the publisher.
WARNING: EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT
The content below is for people 18 years or older. If you are offended or uncomfortable by mature, sexual content, please STOP reading and find another one of my stories with less material with sexual content. Thank you.
Reluctantly, I resign myself and chalk this moment off to weak will-power.
Footfalls that couldn't be mine, but were, land heavily upon each step. Trying to talk myself out of this "appointment" inflicts cruel tricks. My heart is at the bottom of a cold ocean, but my body responds with erotic need. Arousal betrays my thoughts for any passer-by. They only need look below my belt.
Ascending the stairs extracts a price on my soul. Frustration comes out to emasculate me, so I stop the upward climb and lean against the wall. Both hands hide my shame. I heave a sigh that comes out in shuddering waves. Justifications don’t lighten my heart. The ones that claim I can pretend it's her. This session will be a release. I will solely think of her, not the woman I bought out of desperation. But the lie is an invisible hand crushing my guts.
Fourteen months ago, I buried my soul, my wife of fifteen years. I miss her; she was my life, my only love. The screech of tires and the sickening sound of metal folding in on itself still haunt my dreams. Part of me believes she’ll come back. My beautiful Tasha, with long blond curls and piercing blue eyes.
I force the tears away. She is not coming back. But my young, fit body retains needs only a loving woman can fulfill.
“A loving woman.” My tone and mockery echoes down the cascade of stairs. What was Lady Alene then?
Whore, half of me answered. The other half…didn’t answer. Not with words. I’m not the deceiving type. Taking a bar fly home would relieve certain stresses, but the guilt of using a woman in place of my wife wouldn’t set my morals at ease. Nor would the hypothetical bar fly like to be used as a stand-in.
Funny how morals can get convoluted by desperation. Straightening and breathing a sigh, I continue up the stairs. Lady Alene awaits.
I knock twice on the second door to the right. A mocha beauty greets me in nothing but a black bra, panties and an open silk robe. Air escapes my lips when she smiles at me, the kind of smile a cat gives when it’s about to pounce on cornered prey. Her fiery gaze tells me to come in while she backs away and holds the door.
She is perfect.
She is not my deceased wife and just what I need.
I take one step through the threshold and into an oasis of a penthouse. She closes the door and takes my hand leading me further into the island retreat. An ocean surf breeze tumbles in from the open sliding glass door on the opposite side of the room. Plush leather furniture accent high ceilings and dead artist's paintings.
She bares an expression going from mischievous Goddess to sadness, and then a frown. Exposed, naked in her gaze, I could not look away from her dark eyes. I try to stifle my sigh, but it comes out involuntarily. After undergoing Lady Alene’s scrutiny, she raises a hand and touches my face.
“Would you like something to drink?" Her voice is deep with a breathless accent. A native to some island, I’m sure.
I nod, not trusting my voice to remain steady.
The dark lovely glides over to an alcove and returns with an open brown glass bottle. My favorite. Bass.
I sip the beer and slide fingers through my short brown hair. Her expression is now soft and inviting. Again, I avoid conversation and take a pull from my drink.
She parts her lips as if to say something, but doesn’t. My eyes rake over her dancer’s body.
When our eyes meet again, her expression turns to its original mischievousness. "Some men like to talk before. Some would rather not. Others like to go out. Many prefer to stay in. Every man’s needs are different. What's your pleasure?"
Despite her soothing voice, my thoughts turn dark. I shrug and take another swig from my bass. Lady Alene purses her lips and presses a warm hand to my cheek. Her thumb caresses my chin. "I mean not to offend, but you are the first to come to me in torture."
My heart pounds, screaming for recognition.
"There is no rejection here, come." She takes my hand and pulls me to the balcony while I down the last of the spirit in my hand. Tasha and I spent many a time watching a sunset, such as this one, sinking into the sea horizon.
I feel the need to defend myself. I’m not ugly by any means, and rejection has never been a problem for me. "I don't have issues with that."
"Then, you're here to talk." She laughs.
I give her a sideways look, "No."
This time she gives me a smile with beautiful pearl white teeth that contrast with her skin. Lady Alene could make a man melt. But, her smile fades, and the twinkle in her eyes soften. "I recognize it now, your pain. It is loss."
I look away and set my bottle down on the patio floor.
"I'm sorry," she waves a hand to me, "I don't mean to bring burden. I won't mention it again."
"No, it's all right. I don't want you slapping me for calling out another woman's name."
A one-sided smile steals across her lips. The fading sun casts her skin in a golden hue.
She gives me a sheepish grin and nods her head.
All amusement leaves Lady Alene and is replaced by concern. Pity doesn’t suit me. I don’t need pity. I need my wife back.
"Men tell me different lies." Meeting my body language, she turns to me. "But you are the first one I believe. I see it."
A balled-up tissue forms in my throat, and I do my best to push it down, "Don't feel sorry for me. It's been over a year and..." I can’t finish. Is it embarrassment or something else? Perhaps, if I admit to myself she is gone, I might lose a part of me that has held helplessly onto a raft in a violent sea.
Hands enfold my tear-streaked face, and I look into eyes that hold no sorrow. Deep understanding greets the bottom of my soul. I need this. I couldn't admit it, but I do.
Tasha. Everything I want swept from me. Maybe I can’t do this.
But this woman’s hands firmly hold me, forcing an issue that’s coming to a head.
“How many men came before me today?” Defenses bring out the hurtful question. I knew it. But the fight I expect doesn’t erupt.
Lady Alene laughs. A rich genuine sound that resonates in my chest. “So preoccupied with the conquest.” Still holding my face, her thumbs stroke away cold tears. After my grief is swept away, her hand pinches my chin. “You think you have paid for me, and therefore I am yours, and for tonight this is true. But if you think of me as a tool, you miss the prize.” Her eyes hold mischief and daring. Warm fingers keep me fasten in place.
Sore at her brazen deflection, my hurt pride takes the hit knowing I deserve what I get. “I’ll bite, what’s the prize?” Clenching my jaw, I wait.
“Ah. A shame. You allow anger to shield you still. You would know otherwise.”
“I did not come here to be insulted.” My muscles tense, snapping me upright and severing our contact.
She rests her hands on her hips and laughs again. This time it is a tad annoying. “No? If you think yourself in the right, why did you think of turning around before you got here?” Lady Alene waves at the door.
Why did I come indeed? I back away, rethinking the wisdom in coming here. I had nothing to say. But she did.
“You remind me of men honorable enough to spare an unsuspecting innocent, but immoral enough to justify me as a toy.” Her body remains relaxed, but the fire of conviction scorches her words.
I don’t need this. I go for the door.
“Would your wife have you run from pain?”
I turned back in rage. “Don’t speak to me about pain.” I start back toward her.
She holds up a hand, but not at me. Her hand appears to be holding off someone behind me.
I spin and see a hidden door closing. It is dark, but I catch the edge of a patten-leather shoe retreating behind the darkness.
“You’re angry.” She lets her hand fall to her side. “This is good.”
“I wouldn’t hurt you.” I sag with embarrassment that she thinks I would do so.
“I know. Evan doesn’t. Please excuse him.”
It isn’t comforting to know we aren’t alone, but wise on her part. I didn’t begrudge her security. I swipe my face with a hand.
“Blame yourself for your wife, don’t you?” Her eyes soften to a compassion so profound I almost drop to my knees.
So strange how a sentence can crumble a man. Inward hate assaults my heart.
She opens her arms and waits.
I shake my head. “No.”
“Let another carry your weight. That is what you really want.” She motions to me with open arms.
The lure of her arms. My vulnerabilities exposed. All those nights of frustration.
I go to her.
Enfolded in her arms I can abate my loathing. Here is another person sheltering me from my worst enemy. Myself.
“What’s the prize?” My hands go straight to her resplendent hair.
Head lifted to mine, she brings me closer. I feel her chuckle. “Can you make a woman cum?”
I pull back, searching her eyes. Is she serious?
“Many men pay for what they think will bring them closer to a feeling. I give them the sense of freedom and stability.” That smile, her eyes, and this close to her I can smell her want.
A man wanting to come and go as he pleases feels safe around a woman like Lady Alene. She isn’t a threat to a man’s prowling carnal instinct, and yet she will always be there when called. I understand now. The prize is my humanity. I paid for a companion. The key word being companion not paid. What I got is a psycho analyzer and a message. For a woman she possesses strong hands and works my muscles through my coat jacket.
Proving I understand her intentions I ask, “What do you like?”
She arches her back and presses into me. “Ponies.”
Was I contending with livestock? Wait, are we talking about the same thing here? Or does she like having sex with donkeys?
I give her an incredulous look, and she laughs, and this time I join her.
“I like sunsets on the beach. Good wine. Company that likes to kiss.”
Now we were getting somewhere. My smirk of approval gets her to lean in closer.
“It pleases me knowing you like what I do.” She plucks at my jacket.
It becomes a blotch on her white carpet.
“Women talk too much.” Before any protest, I claim her mouth as mine.
Our tongues dance a fast tango. Nails down the back of my shirt cause an arch to my hips, breaking the only skin on skin contact of lips. My shirt is up and over. Her lacy bra chafes along my chest hairs.
Arousal flares. My body takes control. Lips seek each other in hunger. Charged by taste, driven by exotic warmth, my heart pounds. My dick stirs and firms. Breathing through my nose, I refuse to part from this desperate exploration. She wants to know me. I let her take what she can find.
Kicking off my shoes I unbuckle my belt, unshackle my pants and boxers before she can notice I’d broken off.
Lady Alene heaves for air. Her panting inflames my need. She likes what she sees and appears as eager as I am. She hooks her thumbs around her panties to push them down.
"No," I stand still enjoying her liberal evaluation.
Amused, she takes her thumbs away. Wiggling her shoulders, the silk robe slides off. The duet of jacket and robe frame each other on the floor.
Stepping forward, my intent is to make her gloriously naked. Her mouth and tongue persuade me otherwise, for a little while, but wandering hands prevail. The bra meets the same fate as her robe.
Kneeling, my tongue swirls around a taught belly. Fingers stroke my hair. I want her like this. On top of me while I rock us into bliss. Inhaling musk and perfume I wander down, kissing her hips, her thigh and the fabric separating me from her womanly wiles. Licking below her pantie line in between cloth and skin, she moans. The first indication she’s letting go. My dick twitches at the sound. I will have all of her. When I’m done with her, she will revere me as a sex god, slave to her whims.
I bite at the lace. Her underwear revolts and snaps back. I hear a giggle. She likes the shock of the elastic nip. Giving her that little bit of pain sharpens my need. Kissing away the small ache I gave on her hips, I suppress that darker side and smooth her skin with my hands. Perhaps next time she’ll let me bring my paddle.
Fingers dive under the fabric and grasp her muscled ass. Lord, I didn’t know women could have physique there. Pulling her into my face, I envelope that sweet musk of wanting. Her panties are damp. Knowing this, my penis engorges more. My dick protests the teasing with twitches but tonight I have a partner enjoying my play. Rough lace grates against my tongue while I lick the silk border denying me her nectar. Her grip in my hair tightens and pulls me in.
My hips rock doing what they know brings relief. Having a partner makes this torture bearable. Time for those black lacy panties to come off. Combing my hands up her thighs, wrapping lace around my wrists, I bring the barrier of silk down to her ankles. She leaves them there, shackling her legs. Nose first in between her middle my tongue reaches for salt honey.
But Lady Alene has more control than I think. Her hips tilt away, making my dessert more difficult to fish out. “You will make me cum too soon.”
“Isn’t that the goal.” I grab her behind and shove my face deeper. I taste the curry tang she tries to deny me. I can barely breathe. When I do, my lungs fill with her.
My ego is a balloon growing larger with every moan and cry. She uses my face to manipulate that outside button of nerves while my wild kissing continues along the lips of her vaginal opening.
It’s good to know my beak nose pleases someone.
Air is a scarce commodity. I’d rather suffocate than interrupt this sweet triumph. Proving a lady wrong, in this fashion, is worth the price. Yes, I can make a woman cum.
She cries that final shout of victory. The cry of finishing first over the cross line of orgasm. If my head wasn’t buried between her legs, I’d swear she threw wine in my face. A deluge of cum hits me. I smile at the winning ticket. Lady Alene is mine.
I stand and wipe my face. She takes it as her cue to fall into my arms. Holding the boneless lady, I sweep her up and head to the bedroom. Somewhere between there and the hallway her panties drop free of her ankles.
When we land on a soft down comforter, I pull away. Breathless, with want I am sure, she focuses on me. Yet that soft understanding still remains. Unable to wait any longer, I guide myself in between her legs. My entry is met without resistance to a slick welcome, and I pump like a fevered rabbit.
All thoughts become a vacuum, replaced by the ultimate pleasure of reckless abandon. I moan in frantic breaths. Screams of ecstasy deplete my control as my climax nears.
Bending my knees, I lift her horizontally in the sitting position where her melon tits bounce in my face. Wrapping my arms around her, I keep her in place while I drive in and out with the force of an elephant and the speed of a cheetah.
I feel only the need to please myself and not worry for another. Still, I control myself a little to see if I can gain the satisfaction and added sensation of her second orgasm.
Driving in hard and deep, she wraps her legs around my ass. Letting go of all control, I pound faster, harder. I feel like a lion fucking the land I survey. All of it is mine.
The walls of her vagina clench, and I lose and gain all my senses. Lose them to the outside world. Gain them to hone in on every nerve in my body. I am elemental fire. She is elemental water rushing a tidal wave over me. My balls tingle. The point of no return. My body takes full control, and I relax allowing my gyrating hips to break me over into bliss.
Lady Alene gives me that extra bonus I was looking for, and I return her cries. I can feel the rise of pressure. That moment where a man locks in position by nature’s command and spills cum into whatever vessel he's chosen.
My moan turns into something louder at each pump, and by the end of my orgasm, I scream at the last push of ecstasy.
Floating in my own area of nothingness, all the muscles in my body ache in a pleasure worth the depletion. Exhausted and elated, I look down, expecting a different face than I see. I cover my shock well, but not my crest fallen mood and flop down on top of Lady Alene.
She wraps her smooth arms around me and kisses my ear.
I cling tightly to her, and everything I’d been holding back for nearly over a year rushes forward, overcoming my defenses. Unable to stop, I completely let go and sob into Lady Alene's luxurious hair.
She kisses me on the parts of my face that aren’t buried in her.
I didn't know what to do with my hands and arms, so I keep moving them around. I can't fight the rush of feelings shoved down inside, trying to get out.
All of my frustration and anger gushes out. What's left is the desolation of truth. I'm not holding my wife. Dregs of pleasure sour into guilt. Fucking another woman wouldn't have brought this kind of guilt. I made love to Lady Alene. I gave her my all. The fact turned my wife's death concrete. Wandering hands turn into clutching desperation. I endure in this hell, waiting until the wave passes.
"Brave one, you've been so strong." Her voice is soft against the reality.
I can't stop it. The rush of unexamined emotion flows up my chest, inflames my throat and finds every outlet available. They say tears are the heart's pain in physical form. My heart physically expels everything I’ve tried to hold onto. Frustration, anger,self-loathing. All of it swept in the current of forgiving arms. All the strength holding the bitterness has drained away with my orgasm.
"Fuck..." I blather out.
Here I was, releasing everything in front of a complete stranger. But, I realize she wasn't. She knew me the moment I walked in. She knew I was a Bass drinker. She saw my pain like the light of day. Knowing I sought more than just a physical release, she gave me what I needed. She is either a mind reader or I am just that obvious.
Her warmth keeps me steady. Her arms are the gauze holding me together while I fall apart inside and out. I wail harder, clutching her the same way I want to hold my wife, knowing safety for the first time in months.
It takes me a while to cry all of it out. Both the hurt of letting go and hope of replacing toxin with medicine leave me an empty shell.
Lady Alene continues to stroke the back of my neck during the lowest moment I’d ever felt. This place is a safe haven. A refuge. Deep in my core something starts to heal. Not my heart. Not yet. I will always miss Tasha. But I can go on now. Someday, I might meet another woman. A woman like Lady Alene.
I lift my chest realizing I might be crushing my beautiful savior.
Compassion fills her eyes. She softly brushes the tears from my eyes.
"Better?" Her fingers play through my hair.
Grateful for her strength not to display pity, I give her a slow, lingering kiss.
In my younger days, I could do this all again. Instead, I bring her with me as I roll on my back.
I sleep the rest of the night in peace.
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When I started, I noticed a theme occurring in my writing. It was about things I wanted to talk about, but didn't know how. Spreading my short stories out as a whole I realized I was a not "normal" girl trying to work in the confines of a "normal" world. I have now realized the un-normal is me and I'm just fine! I might push the limits of acceptable concepts in my writing, but that's why I write. The Shorts-off series are stories that explore relationships and human behavior. I love reader input so don't be shy about leaving me a message. Contact me here on my blog or my Facebook at:
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The Demon Inside Me
Escape to Vampire Dam
Spoils of Allsveil
Don't Feed the Freaks
"If you're reading this. If you find this book; I'm sorry but I have no answers. But I can tell you what I've seen and what I know".
A young man travels the lifeless wasteland of what was once civilization. He's following the breadcrumbs of an apparent thriving society hidden somewhere in the vast, long-dead wilderness.
I watched "Don't Feed the Freaks" first. When I finished, I had to know more.
There are subtle clues about the film that you can piece together from the other three short films. Amazing art. Very creative. Left me wanting to see more of this world and what happened to the boy and his capitol "T" Town.
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