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 To do what I want to do and to write what I like to write it's becoming apparent that I'll have to defy the norms of an industry.
Everybody understands the concept of a book. Buy it. Read it. Enjoy it. Sometimes you even write a review and recommend it to friends. But my stories aren't always "main stream". I've been relying on Amazon, Kobo, Barnes & Noble and others to help put my books out for readers to buy and that's a totally cool thing. I'll continue to write stories and put them up to these sites until they kick me off. But what if I could offer my fans something more? What if, you could mention to your favorite author (like me) that you'd love to see more of this character or even suggest what could happen in the story─and then the author actually takes your advice and creates a scene especially for you? Sounds too good to be true to have your own story teller write for you? Well, as I've mentioned to my VIR's (Very Important Readers Group), I'm thinking of starting a subscription service where I write an episode or scene every day and post it for fans. Well, with Wattpad, Radish, and a whole host of other providers, I could. But I still don't trust them. It would be the same story, different provider all over again. No, this time, I want to build a site where readers can go to and have a new thing everyday. Not a plethora of slog to go through to *see* if you like it, but something you know you'll love. There's a time and place to discover new authors. But sometimes, I just want a place to go where my favorite authors are writing their stories. In this day and age, I can do something about my ideal concept. IN fact, I've started the process. I write everyday and am perfecting the way I do things so that when it comes time to launch my story membership there will be something to read. Which is also why I'm thinking of bringing the free stories down. So, as they say, smoke 'em if you got 'em. That's the just with me. Tell me what you think in the comments! Until next week... Happy reading! ♥ ~ Stephy  Cougar Bait in the Coffee Shop(PART TWO) by S.N.McKibben The moment you've all been waiting for! (Or at least in my head it is.) The conclusion of COUGAR BAIT IN THE COFFEE SHOP. If you missed Part One, you can always go back and read the first part: This story was fun and seemed to drip from my hands like water. But this was way back in 2013 when writing was my experiment. I started off with the male perspective and have continued it for most my stories. I can't explain why (men) but it seemed natural to me. Perhaps because the male mind is a fascination for me. Perhaps because I enjoy the company of men. Or maybe because I can identify with men more often. You'll may notice that this story is up on Amazon for purchase, so why am I posting it here for free? It's because I'm hoping that if you like it enough, you'll want to support me or have this story on your kindle/kindle app or whatever you use and give me $1 for entertaining you. I also believe in giving people the chance to see if they like my stories. Hence, the reason why I do free stories once a month. Who knows if I'll be able to do this for how long but if all you can give is a share and a like, that will get the word out to other people. Believe it or not, that does help. If $1 isn't too rich for your blood, click the button below for the full version, formatted ebook. If you're strapped for cash, then consider this a gift. Pay it forward. Smile at someone and that will payment enough for me. Happy reading! ♥ ~ Stephy  Copyright © 2012 S.N. McKibbenNo 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 CONTENTThe 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. Cougar Bait in the Coffee ShopPART TWO Like an eager mastiff, I’m early. I remind myself to breathe. Don’t show you’re anxious. Be that guy. The one in the mirror. That guy tells me showing eagerness is a turn-on. It shows I’m real. Interested. I don’t have to be insecure about what I want. Yeah, but I want her real bad. Even in public I’m a little out of control. Just a little. All because I know I’m going to see Satomi. A shock of beautiful white hair walks through the door, and my control explodes. I want her. My mind rips down those tight jeans of hers and my inward alter ego pounds Satomi, rabbit style, against the glass. Fuck, I’m horrid. She looks around, and her gaze slides right past me. Damn, I know I look a little different. Maybe I should stow away the fake-rim glasses. I walk towards her, and she moves away giving me a place to exit at the door, still scanning. Halting by her side, I smile and let her eyes continue the search. “Maybe I can help you find who you’re looking for?” Her wandering gaze freezes and her head drags its way to my face. I love when people’s jaw hinge becomes suddenly inoperable and hangs there limp. But with Satomi, I’m thinking about a long hard shaft of a certain part of my anatomy going in and out that open mouth. Oh, the woman can read my mind and those lips clasp together in a smile. Teasingly she licks her lips, and I remember how that tongue feels against mine—and my index finger. “Oh. My. God.” She scans me head to toe. Oh, yes. I wish I had that little black helmet Vader pen that said “I have you now” when you pressed its head. I’d lay my thumb down on repeat. “Hello Satomi.” “Kal?” I dip my head. “Yes.” “Wow.” She shakes her head. “Just wow.” My heart leaps inside the ego-train and both ride off into the sunset together. “Wow enough to forget about certain society restrictions?” Looking like this, she couldn’t think of me as too young. “It helps.” She wraps an arm around my waist and rubs my stomach. “But I hope you still look twenty-three underneath this.” All brain function ceases. I think my heart stutters. She’s touching me. Oh God, she’s touching me. Gentleman. Promised. “I…pastry? Coffee?” “Yes.” Her agreement sounds dirty. Or maybe that was just me. I place our order while she grabs a table. The girl behind the counter looks at me differently, too. I like it. Geez, if all I need is to put a little make-up on, I’d done this sooner. Still I’m nervous. Coffee may not have been the brightest idea. Put some ice in my mocha, and I could make you a frappe with my shaking hands -- no blender needed. If I’d known my nerves would be this bad, I might have ordered herbal tea. Thank goodness they put caps on or Satomi might have half a coffee and crumbs to eat. As it was she took the coffee out of my hands and ignored my temporary Tourette’s syndrome. “So,” At least nerves didn’t make it to my voice. “Is it just in public that you’re shy about younger men?” I made an Asian blush, not that it’s really hard. But a flushed Satomi is sexy as hell. “I wouldn’t say age specifically but there is a level of maturity that comes with older men.” “Why is it that women find it difficult to be with younger men, but not older ones?” She rolls her eyes. “Why is it that men prefer younger women but not older ones?” “I’m young.” Pft. Younger guys went with older women all the time. Frowning, I have a sense of what bothers her so much. “Are you divorced?” Satomi’s mouth thinned, and she nods. Ahhh. I know what happened. “He went with a younger woman, I take it.” “That obvious, huh?” She grimaces. “Satomi, present company excluded, we’re not all assholes.” Her eyes crinkle. “You’re not an ass.” I rolled my eyes, remove my rim glasses and stow them in my shirt pocket. That silence that’s uncomfortable around strangers, the kind when you’re getting to know someone and you don’t know what to say…this was different. Satomi didn’t let that happen, yet we say nothing for a very long while. Instead, she soundlessly asks for my hand with a gesture. I take it. Our connection hums up my arm. “He used to talk. A lot. So, please don’t. Unless you have something you want to ask. But not for menial conversation, please, dear God, I’m sorry if you like the sound of your own voice.” I smile. “I can go days without talking.” “Good. Because that’s all I want to say about my past.” She looks so fragile at that moment. Imagine my brave Satomi, the woman who reads soft-porn in public, the lady who takes a meek guy in hand and gives him confidence enough to break out of his shell, the woman so comfortable with herself -- cowed. It wasn’t the silence that got to me. I just want to know what she is thinking. “Do you want to have sex with me?” Yep, classy as ever. White eyebrows lift. “That wasn’t made clear yesterday?” “My version of the story is I seduced you to bringing me home, ravished your mouth, humped your leg and then retreated like the cowardly dog I am.” White mocha spills over the table. Satomi covers her mouth with a battalion of napkins and holds her stomach while heaving. I think she is laughing. I hope she is laughing. “Are you okay?” I pat her back. She nods, tears streaming down her face. I go to gather more napkins and help clean up the mess. God it felt good to make her laugh. We both needed it. My nerves calm down with someone other than me to worry about. When she settles and I have the nerve to ask, I say. “So, I look okay?” Satomi rewards me with a smile. “Oh, yeah.” It makes me sad in a way. This must be what girls feel like when they have to put on a mask for their dates. But Satomi is different. “So you’re not embarrassed to be seen with me.” I tease. She leans back in her chair searching my eyes. Oh shit. She looks like she is going to cry. “I’m sorry.” She whispers. “I didn’t really expect you to look different, or older.” She reaches out for my hand again. “It’s the sweetest thing a guy’s done for me lately.” Whew. Being with her is so easy. I should let it lay. Not having a filter gets me slapped. A lot. It’s never stopped me. “Why is being with a younger guy bothersome for women?” She smiles at me, and I prepare for teasing. “Because most women aren’t pedophiles.” A very unmanly squawk flutters a protest. I am legal. More than legal. I can drink! Go to bars. Hell, most people tell me I’m past my prime. Isn’t that a sucker punch. Even if I deserve that, because I asked, this wasn’t getting me anywhere. Time to change tactics. “This is definitely not the type of conversation I have with girls my own age.” She tilts her head. “You’re much cuter if you just sit there.” My mouth hangs open. Now wait a minute. Wasn’t it the guy telling the girl to shut up? I close my mouth, sit up and sip coffee. On my own, I realize that I needed to prove that I am mature enough to be a contender in her life. If I want to have her, I am going to have to step it up. I ask my inner Richard Gere how I can prove my worth. “I’m curious about you.” I sip my coffee with as much sophistication as I can pretend to possess. “What do you want to know?” Her smile and her eyes tease me into thinking about all the nasty things I want to do to her. Oh, I could ask what she did, or what she liked to do for fun, all those bland questions you ask to get to know someone but I need memorable. I want engagement. “Have you ever…wrestled with alligators?” She stares at me for a fraction of a second. “No. Have you?” “It’s on the bucket list.” I shrug. She takes a piece of her crumble cake and pops it into her mouth. She chews in silent contemplation. Her gaze falls to my hands, and she traces lines from my knuckles to my fingertips. That simple act of touch has my groin on fire. It is so intimate and so naughty the way she has my dick on end that I feel embarrassed for being in public. “You’re going to make it uncomfortable and embarrassing to walk out of here.” “How so?” She grins in a way that tells me she knows exactly what she is doing. “Am I just fun for you?” She pulls her hand back and retreats in her seat. Oh crap. If not my dick, it’s my mouth getting me in trouble. “I mean that’s okay if I am. I just want to know what I’m in for.” She smirks. “A companion would be nice.” No hard involvement. Would a relationship with her go beyond the physical? Is this too fast to be thinking about this stuff right now? I have her now. Isn’t my goal to get laid? Or could she be the one? I remind myself of what I look like. Having make-up on could be an advantage. As best I can in a chair, I puff out my chest, lift my chin and look her straight in the eye. Not to intimidate. To invite. With a low baritone voice, one that guy in my mirror would use, I say, “Tell me about your day.” Her gaze mimmicks my own. “I massaged three people, did some yoga and set up an appointment for a new client.” A massage therapist! I didn’t think my cock could get bigger, but it did. The throbbing starts to hurt. She narrows her eyes and points a finger at me. “If you ask me if I give happy endings I will hurt you.” “I put on make-up for a living.” I raise my hands in defense. “I have no room to talk.” “I thought you were in school.” “That’s what I’m in school for.” God. Can we go to bed now? Fuck I’m an asshole. As ever the blurter, I announce, “This is going the wrong way.” Satomi’s perplexed look ages her face. I want her to smile, to have that easy air around me again. I wave my hands hoping they'll cancel out my last sentence. “I mean, I'm really nervous.” Her smile of relief stills my shakiness. “Me too.” “Can we agree on one thing?” “What?” The angst returns in her body making the wood chair underneath her look plush. “Can we not push anything?” All the girls I'd "known" used me like a wet rag, and tossed me aside. Yeah, that's great in theory, but one-night-stands don't make you coffee in the morning. They don't stay the night and keep your bed warm. One-night-stands don't giggle at your jokes because they're too busy gathering their clothes and leaving, half-dressed. I've had one too many encounters where I'd gotten laid, never to see the girl again. It was like I couldn't keep any of them satisfied. If true, what an ego rake. So, as I was saying, sleeping around is great in theory, but in reality, it's lonely. Which is why I want to do something different. I like Satomi's smile. I love her soft white hair. The way it parts, how she wears it. How she smells. How she tastes. God, I can't go down this line of thought right now. The way she was staring at me, in that bewildered awe, gets me thinking maybe I could start something--something substantial. Then a bright smile plasters over her face. "But I had plans." I catch my breath at the gleam in her eyes. My pants riot. I can’t trust myself to say anything, so I don’t. A slight look of concern flashes across her face. "Okay, now I need you to say something." "Satomi," I breathe. "You're going to make it extremely difficult for me to leave with my pride intact." "Oh?" The table bumps and she wraps her leg around mine. All that crap about waiting--yeah, that notion didn't bother to walk out the door, it expired on the ground in the promise of her seductive, coy word. She sips the dregs of her mocha. "Kal, you are a wonderful man. For you to do this," she waves at my face. Was she blowing me off? "Nah, I'm desperate." She laughs and the sound sends me to heaven. "How long did it take you?" "Hey, I'm a professional. I was good to go in fifteen minutes." Liar. Liar. Pants on fire and not just because of my verbal embellishment. She isn’t buying it either. Christ, the shift in power washes over me. Was I that easy to mow over? But, God did I like it. Letting Satomi take control was a heady aphrodisiac. I grit my teeth in response to the under table play. Her leg on mine is enough to make me explode. "What's the matter?" Her face drops in concern. "Nothing." I hiss. "Just a little sore." Her eyebrows draw together and then her eyes fly wide. "Oh, blue balls?" That makes me chuckle. "You could say that." Or you could say chafe rash from cumming in my pants after an encounter between a stucco wall, jeans and scratchy wool underwear. "Are you done with your coffee?" She gets up and tosses her trash. When she returns I take her hand and say, "Not yet." "Well, when you're ready, I'd like to help with your problem." I freeze mid drink. Rotating what she implied in my head, I set my cup down. "What happened to not pushing?" "Am I?" She raises a brow, the edges of her lips turning up in playful mischief. "Promise me one thing." I grimace at the painful twitch in my pants. She leans down, and we touch foreheads. "What?" "Don't kick me out, like, right after." Her look of pity gets to me. Shit. All this time, am I just a lousy lay? "I was hoping you would spend the night." Her somber face brightens. "I learned a new yoga move I can try." Wheezing down the rest of my pastry, I held up a finger. "I need a minute." She sat. "Should I talk about fluffy kittens?" "So I don't come in the coffee shop? Yeah, that'd be nice." I reach in my breast pocket and put my fake glasses back on. She laughs. "You are too sexy. I'm almost floating off my chair." I tilt my head. “Appreciating the sexy part, but the other comment?” She rolls her eyes and whispers in my ear. "I'm really wet." Oh. My eyes fly open. "Not helping." I hiss. I kiss her knuckles and breathe. "Ready." Or as ready as I'll ever be. The ache in my groin slows my ascent. Pride won’t let me stiffen or allow a hitch in my step, but my jaw clenches and takes the brunt of my sore package. Things aren’t all bad. I am holding Satomi's hand and our arms swing, lazy hammock style. We are quiet during the walk to condo number one twenty three, but once we get to the door, I turn to her. "Would it be weird to ask you on another date before we have sex? I mean, if you still want to have sex." What a dweeb I am. Satomi snorts, an honest-to-God pony squeal. "That made no sense." Sighing, I start again. "Do you want to have sex?" "Jesus, you've got to be the only guy in town that I have to plead for it." She pulls a key from her very tight jeans pocket. "Okay, okay!" I hold up my hands in surrender. "I just kinna don't want this to be like, a one-time thing." "Awww." Satomi coos. "Don't get too mushy," I shoulder her arm like a guy buddy. I don’t want her to think I am getting serious. "I'm just securing another date." I muse nervously. She unlocks her door and tugs at my shirt sleeve to come inside. When I stumble into her condo it feels like I'd taken a walk into the orient. The floor isn’t wood, but it isn’t carpet either. Some kind of firm but squishy interlocking mats that put a spring in my step. A regal bonsai tree stands on an equally impressive wood mantel near a window. Symbols on tapestries line the walls. Sparse furniture in strategic placement displays a demur setting. Soft light cast this place as a quiet haven free from traffic or unwanted conversation. Perfect place for a message. A low table, and I mean low as in take your shoes off and there’s barely enough room to fit your knees under, sits in a dining room area. My eye drifts to an odd bamboo chair. The chair is odd because it isn’t on the ground like most Japanese chairs. In fact cushions usually replace couches in many a Japanese home. But not only does this chair have legs, it has a low back and arms. An imperial chair. I am not sure about it so I turn conversationally to something I do know. “Beautiful hiragana.” I motion at the tapestries. Hiragana is one of a few Japanese alphabets. Each corresponding character represents a word. And like many poems on tapestries, this one is sad. Satomi turns to me in curious fashion. “Wow. Can you read it?” “It’s a Haiku.” I adjust my fake spectacles and read. “Everything I touch, with tenderness, alas, pricks like a bramble.” She claps her hands. “Oh Kal! You’re amazing!” Despite the depressing message, I beam at her. I wonder what kind of life she’s had to surround herself with sorrow. Many of these haiku have somber meaning. Before I can reflect any further she wraps her arms around me. The feel of her heart racing kept time with the throb of my cock. “Kal.” This close to her, feeling her small frame, absorbing the heat her body threw off, I’m not thinking straight. “Yes.” My response is more of a take me answer. Her words came soft in apology. “I can’t promise anything.” “Will you do me a favor then and tell me if I’m a lousy lay? It would explain a lot.” My brain kicks in, and I reciprocate with my arms around her. Her smile fades and her eyes darken. She looks mad. “Who said you were a lousy lay?” “No one.” My hands drift up and down her back. “It’s just that I don’t seem to get a girlfriend.” Satomi slid her hand down my front. All the way to the hardness between my legs. I gasp. “Oh God.” “All you need is the want to please your partner and a little communication.” And at that moment, she is communicating fine. I did a little communicating myself, just not with words. Lips collide, tongues thrash. I taste the white mocha along her teeth and the inside of her cheeks. If I was feeling especially forthright, I could tell you if she has tonsils or not. She meets me with as much force. I grab her ass and pull her in closer. My other hand does the same to the back of her head. “Satomi,” My blood roars through my ears. “I need you naked, now.” She pushes me over to the imperial chair and I fall into it. Her shirt floats over to drape me. My helpless eyes rake across flesh and sexy underwear. Her pants disappear and fuck all if I didn’t receive the most beautiful lingerie show of my life. Lacey panties and matching pink bra, Satomi kneels before me, clawing at my zipper. Never in my life have I seen a comparable desperation to fuck as mine. The sight paralyzes me. My very own sex banshee. Expert hands whip out my cock with fluid ease, and her greedy mouth plunges down over my exposed masculinity. Hot, raw need blinds me, literally. Unintelligible cries escape my throat while my mind tries interpreting the intensity of both pleasure and pain. Her tongue swirls around, stroking all the facets of my dick while her head bobs. She is really getting acquainted with the part of me I love. Hell, I think she loves little Kal as much as I do. Her tongue feels so good wrapping around, dipping down, teasing all the veins supplying blood to the ruthless organ dictating my bliss. But my cock also throbs in soaring agony. Little Kal makes his displeasure known at having to wait so long for this. Satomi strokes me as any connoisseur would a rare delicacy and soon the pleasurable shock evolves into revelry. Without shame, I wail in pleasure. Each moan boosts her rapport. Every cry receives hearty oral engulfment. I can admit it, I called her name. Several times. All the while she sucks a little harder for my unabashed surrender. But my end is coming too fast. Watching her head bob up and down while she brings me to new heights does me in faster than I anticipate. I grip the arms of the imperial bamboo chair. “Satomi, I’m close.” I wheeze. She does not slow or pull out. God she drives faster. Fuck. “Satomi, I’m going to come.” Admittance gets me more excited. My chest tightens. Breaths rattle in-and-out in gusts. I’m not ready for the annihilation of every nerve in my body. My entire self is the whole of what Satomi is doing to me. Air pricks my arm hairs to full attention. Every muscle denies my request to relax. This orgasm will be swift and unstoppable. All control lost, I try to warn her. This isn't just pleasure. It is an onslaught of domination. A conquest of decimating every thought until all I have is the final explosion. The power she has over me. The power of my complete and utter attention. She owns it. All my strength goes with my spasms of ecstasy. Cannon-shot rips out my cock and down her throat. A second spasm tears a cry from me. “Oh, God!” She is still pumping, and I halt her very talented mouth with a hand pressing against the back of her head, holding her in place. Satomi swallows every ounce I shoot out. A third explosion, or possibly the seventh, rips through me as strong as the first pump and sinks me so far into myself I think I lose consciousness for a moment. The last dribbles squeeze out and now I can’t move. Not that I want my dick out of her mouth, but I wonder if her jaw is tired. Releasing my hand from the crown of her head, I caress her cheek. Cock still in her mouth, white eyebrows and hazel brown eyes look up at me. A wave of lust flushes over my chest. Fuck that was hot. As tender as my shaking hands capable, I brush an escaping lock of that beautiful white hair off her face. “You are amazing.” This close to her, being allowed to touch her I can’t stop. My hands glide over skin and under pink lingerie. A heart stopping smile rewards my praise. My dick flips aside as she releases her “captive”. The whistle of a kettle breaks her away from me. Completely drained, I can’t stop her from going. Two minutes of dozing, and she was back. Tea was my prize for listlessly waiting. Not like I can stand up at the moment, but compared to the loss of her company, the gesture is almost trite. However, a woman waiting on me like this feels rewarding. Scantily clad Satomi is beautiful. They say give a guy ten minutes and he’s good to go for another round. Being that this is usually the time women point at the door and tell me “out,” I’d never experienced that second wind. It was great being thrown out the first few times. But, with Satomi I hope for more. Life pulses back into my dick. Christ, I want it again. An unfamiliar ache rises along with little Kal. One that tells of strain from use. Excellent! Satomi notices my rising from the dead. Fast as a button pop, her pink lacy bits go to the way side. Oh, yes! Again! Not as desperate this time around, allowances for my own stripping commence. Standing, albeit meekly, I pull off my pants and tighty-whities—or would have if my shoes were off. Wow. She has me backwards and loving it. Eventually, I’m naked and blushing at the hungry expression on her face. This time I fish out a condom from my pants and roll it on, knowing the sexiest woman I know is my audience. Preparing to lay her down and go at it, I don’t have the chance. Satomi turns tigress and pushes my ass back in the chair, then climbs on top of me. “So, it’s true that older women like sex more.” A pause. I don’t like the pensive look she gives me. Shit. I shouldn’t mention age. “Hey, don’t go down that road. We’re having a good time.” Running her hands over my pecks, I wonder what else I can do to close this gap in maturity difference. I know that’s what is bothering her. “Come on baby, you look twenty-five.” Satomi snorts and slaps my chest. “Seriously, I pegged you with code name ‘felony’ when I first saw you.” My hands glide along her front. I want to be on a first name basis with those puckering nipples. I want to know her very intimately. What she likes. How she likes to be stroked. What do I need to do to make her arch her back in sweet, indulgent abandon? My fingers travel down her sides to the folds of her hairless sex. Her body relaxes. “It’s my Asian blood.” My free hand reaches up and gently pulls the ties holding her braids. Setting those aside, she lets me unwind her two pigtails. Even after having a blow job, this feels like the most intimate thing I’ve done with her. White, wavy hair hides her face and covers her breasts. Long hair has the same effect on me as playing with buttons. Rigid, hard and ready, my cock leaps and slaps her belly. “You like that.” She giggles, cupping her breasts. My response comes out more serious than I intend, but heartfelt. “You’re that beautiful.” She leans and sucks my bottom lip. I moan. “Get on the floor.” Satomi ignores me and instead she grabs the back of the chair. “What are you doing?” I grin. Her breasts are in my face. How was I to object? She spreads her legs and steps on the chair’s arms. Crouching, Satomi has me pinned to the chair. Yes, it’s odd to say a hundred-pound woman with her ass on your crotch has you pinned, but that ass was very persuasive. My attention is all hers. If she has plans to mount me, stallion-style, I have no objections. Satomi hovers over me. This woman is strong. She suspends that luscious slit over my dick, holding herself up with arms and feet. A shot of sexual current flashes down from my brain to my groin. I’m not going to waste this virility. I reach behind me, drape a hand over the chair-back and interlace our fingers together. I squeeze her hand, admitting my awe while my other hand holds my cock. Playing prey to her wild cat, I wait for her next move. An urge to tease her flits at the edge of my thoughts, but she wastes no time in lowering gently down my engorged shaft. Oh, dear God. She claims my dick. And I do mean she claims me because that is how it is. Restrained, pinned down, unable to move my joyful entreaty proclaims her authority. Every inch I yield seals my fate. Yes, this woman can own my dick, my balls, my body and every rapturous thought I can give. Jeeesus. The hot molten pleasure obscures my already dirty mind. It’s her pussy proclaiming me hers. Do I want control back? Her ass settles to my hips, and I can feel the end of my cock touching the very end of her vaginal wall. Oh I can die a happy man. My other hand meets with hers. Control belongs to Satomi. I fill her every which way her pussy stretches. She rises up just as slowly as she’d come down, and I gasp, “More.” Her hips rise till cold air hits the flare of my head, and she starts the process down. Tortuously slow, she lowers, warming my cock. I squeeze her hands, expressing my pleasant grievance. Subduing the temptation to pry my entangled fingers out of hers, place my hands on her hips and pound into eternal bliss cost me a bit of control. But that might hurt her. This is her show. She’d taken the lead and hell would freeze before I squelch this kind of initiative. As fast as her mouth had been, her body is slow. In effect, she forces me to feel every crevice of her inner walls. When I said I wanted to know every part of her, I meant it. I was getting what I asked for and express my gratitude with very unmanly moans. My pleasure excites her. Every one of my gasps widens the pupils of her eyes. Sweat pools at my belly. Muscles concentrate on remaining still and not driving in-and-out with fierce conviction. I let her pussy suckle me, envelope me, trace itself and mold to my dick. That’s what I want, a perfect mold of my cock on her insides so every other man wouldn’t—couldn’t make her feel this good. “Faster.” My plea fell on deaf ears. Satomi gazes at me with a crazed look. I ‘m not the only one “suffering.” God, how much control did it take to deny oneself the ability to let go? Again she sits all the way down, and again she lifts with the same precise slow claiming of my body. Hell and heaven had never been one place for me. This is an interesting type of torture for which I would volunteer. Again with another slow prolonged engulfment, and I can’t take it anymore. “Satomi, fuck!” I steady her hips and keep them high while my feet brace on firm ground. My hips and lower back pump to meet her. I am not gentle. I am not slow. I desperately shove myself inside her. Our bodies slap out a tempo. We make music and produce a symphony of pleasure. Gaining some control back, I want it all. “Hold onto me.” I lift us both out of the chair. I impress myself. I can still gyrate while taking a step and setting her on the padded floor. Being on top of her, covering her, brought out all the possessive drive a man feels when he’s with his woman. I need her attention. I want her supplication. She won’t be the only one dominating how I feel. Her reserve drives me to madness. I will not allow her to be the typical quiet Asian woman. I want to hear her. “You like this?” My hips pound sending shock waves of nerve-frying pleasure through my dick. She nods with eyes closed. Oh-no-you-don’t! “I want to hear it.” I growl. Hands positioned for push-ups I plunge madman-style, tightening my ass to drive harder. Satomi tries to pull me down, but I have none of it. She wraps her legs around my thighs. Her lips brush the tip of my ear lobe. Only her ass touches the rug. Then the slightest whimper. Hot breath against my ear unleashes the real monster inside me. “Oh, yes!” My frantic pace less methodical. With Satomi saddled right where I want her, I lift to my knees, hips driving, rabid as ever. “Don’t hold back.” Her entire body jitters. I hold onto the earthquake ripping through my lover, feeling every shock wave and then, “Kalyan!” Oh God my dick is being milked for all its worth. I pump twice more before I meet her in orgasm. The deluge has me wondering if she peed on me. Still felt good. More than good. Fantastic. I crinkle my eyebrows. “Good?” The ear-to-ear grin on her face pumps up my pride. “Yes.” She flops into me, and I hold her. Both of us gloriously sweating. That’s right. I just had sex…and a blow job! We lay there for some minutes─content in every way, my body full, sated, relaxed. While I drift further into the other side of consciousness, Satomi wiggles. Springing back to resilience, she lifts herself in my arms. “I’m hungry.” “Okay.” I grin in idiot happiness. “We could go out, come back and do this all again.” I like that idea. Damn if that twinkle in her eye says she likes that idea too. “My treat, I don’t cook.” One of my louder snorts sneaks past my non-existent social filter. “Okay, okay,” Unwrapping herself from me she stands and holds a hand out. “I know how to cook, but I’m not going to. Shower first.” Another idea I like. Slippery soap, my hands, Satomi’s nipples. Sounds like a great combination. I take her hand. “But before we go out can you take off your make-up?” I frown. Touching my face I wonder if the latex is peeling. “Do I look that bad?” “No.” She leads me down a hall. “You look flawless. But, I think I can wait until your grey highlights are natural.” “Hey, it made you comfortable enough to…” Wow. I do have a filter, only it’s too late. She smiles and teases my chest with her fingers. “Make love to you?” Not what I was going to say, but—”Yeah, that’s it.” Satomi laughs. She totally got me. “I want the real Kal.” Oh look! Hope. “This is the real Kal.” “I want the no make-up Kal.” I smile following her into the shower. “You have him.”  Dear Reader, 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: If you want to know when more of my stories are released, join my exclusive readers by clicking the button below: In doing so, you'll receive a free ebook as a thank you! I hope you enjoyed Cougar Bait in the Coffee Shop. Sincerely, S.N. McKibben  Excerpt for “But For You, Yes”Copyright © 2012 S.N. McKibben “Can I ask you a question?” I posed in the bed with my muscled arm flexed holding up my head. Thoughts swam around in my mind about how I should ask my girlfriend of six months my deal breaker question. She rolled over slowly, staring at me with that oh-so-familiar serious look. Melonie was the intuitive type. She always knew when I wasn’t joking and when my jokes had truth to them. It made her an invaluable companion, along with her olive skin, ebony hair, and eyes with the power of a black hole. That combination of hers never failed to get me to “rise” to any occasion she wanted. Plenty of those occasions were kinky enough to make me have hope that this relationship could go much further than ones in the past and fulfill my sexual perverseness. “What do think about back-door love?” I thought I was being as suave as possible about the subject but wasn’t reassured by her giggles and shaking head. She climbed over me, pinned a kiss on my forehead and sauntered out of the bedroom. I lay there wondering what she had implied. Damn woman, that wasn’t an answer. Again, her intuitive nature deflected my question. A metallic squeak followed by hissing water from the bathtub rang like a mating call. Excited that this may be a “yes” to my real question, I flung the covers over and strode to the shower. She was already in, bent over adjusting the temperature, when I pushed the curtain aside and hopped in behind her. That friendly pull from my groin started the blood flowing, and I stroked myself in anticipation. Melonie straightened and turned to face me, “No.” Her tone of finality shocked me. She was always the one to coherece me into nerve-wracking situations when it came to hot monkey sex. And she was telling me “no” for the first time. I caressed her smooth arms, “No to shower sex, or no to the other question?”  Other Taboo Fiction you will love!Lady Alene and the Widower Cougar Bait in the Coffee Shop The Demon Inside Me Escape to Vampire Dam Dr. Vampyre Spoils of Allsveil  Cougar Bait in the Coffee ShopBy S.N.McKibben  STORY TIME! I'm tots cheating this month on everything! But it's the time to give thanks for the opportunities I've had. In honor, I'm doing another free story, like I always do! So you could say I honor my readers every month! November is Part 1 of COUGAR BAIT IN THE COFFEE SHOP and it is a story about an older lady and a younger man. This story is a bit niche. People don't want to think of old people having sex. Even though wrinkles don't stop people from having sex. Would you stop having intercourse because of age? Maybe? *Nothing like body issues to force celibacy.* The POV is from a guy and it's crude. I can't stress enough that this story is... NOT SAFE FOR WORKOr prudes. Or people who get skirmish around sex. I promise I do have stories that are not all about sex. Though, they are few and far between. Anyway. BE FOREWARNED! Sex, sex, sex. If you haven't been scared off by all the sex talk, proceed! Of course if you would like to support me as an author and have the ability to spend $1 on the story, you can purchase it on Amazon and give me a coffee... to write more stories about Coffee Shop Cougars. :) Here's the link: 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. Happy Reading!  Copyright © 2012 S.N. McKibbenNo 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 CONTENTThe 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. Before we begin the story, I have visuals! There are only two characters in this story. Satomi and Kal. I thought I'd give you my version of what these two look like before I started. In Cougar Bait I was trying to show the contrast of the testosterone induced needs of a decent guy. Not all men have a chip on their shoulder, are confident to walk up to a stranger and say hello and yet, a lot of pressure is put upon guys to make the first "physical" move. Of course, women signal a guy first by checking him out, making eye contact and smiling. Which if read incorrectly, by the guy who approaches a woman, can lead to embarrassment and further descent into insecurity. Maybe it's insightful. Definitely entertaining. Anyway... Carry on!
Cougar Bait in the Coffee ShopPart 1 I just want to get my dick wet. Fuck. Now I sound like an asshole. But damn if I’m tired of dating rosy palm. It’s been six months since my last good lay. Since my last lay actually, without the assistance of my hand. This fact is driving me nuts. It’s like I have this monster clawing from the inside to get out and fuck everything. Trees, pillows, couches, shoes—everything is fair game. Everything is a potential hole. God, if I let that monster go, I’d be in jail. Humping legs walking by isn’t right. It isn’t right that some of those legs don’t necessarily belong to women either. I think about driving up to Vegas. It’s about a five-hour drive from California, but five hours is a bit excessive for paid assistance. Prostitution isn’t legal here, and in all honesty, it’s not about getting laid. Not entirely. It’s about having a warm body to cuddle at night. It’s about smelling her hair, her skin, rubbing against her softness, pulling her close and… I’m driving myself crazy. I can’t do this. Staying indoors is a prescription for madness. I’ll go get some coffee or something. And, then I’ll be up all night thinking about fucking a mermaid. Whoopee for me! It’s probably my fate for a while, unless those masturbation blisters on my hands have gone down. Which they haven’t. The keys in my hand make my idea real. I just need to get out. So, smart phone with downloaded coffee app in hand, my hard-on and me drive the zero point five miles to the closest college hang-out. Ordering my sissy drink while I try to cover up the bulge in my pants with hands in my pockets, I smile at the girls behind the counter -- managing not to think about how they’d feel naked in my arms. Okay, okay, I didn’t think it twice. Getting out of my head helps. Being surrounded by people keeps my mind from wandering even if some of those legs look tempting. But getting out gives my control back. I don’t feel the clawing fuck monster trying to get out. Talking to the baristas brings me out of my head and back into the here and now. I pay, grab my drink and sit in a corner where I can observe life. You know, other people who regularly get laid. Coffee doesn’t give me release, but it does give me a taste of mocha, sugary-smooth goodness. And a good look at this odd girl. Just so I’m straight on things, I’ve nicknamed her, “Felony.” She looks way too young for me with her school girl braids, but for the color. Her hair is pure white, like old-lady-grey but beautiful. Not kinked out or rough. I wonder how those braids would feel splayed across my thighs. They’d make great “handle-bars.” Something to hold onto while those puffy lips sucked on my cock. Fuck. Back to being the asshole again. Watching other patrons I see a guy in a suit with a newspaper. Probably relaxing before he goes home to his wife and kids. Taking for granted that he has someone, probably bemoaning the fact that he does. Now I’ve made myself jealous of the suit executive and glide my sights over to a lady talking on her cell phone. Christ lady, we don’t need to know about your horrible date last night. In fact, you might meet more good guys if you stopped talking on the phone and smiled at the dude in the baseball cap over there that’s sneaking glances at you over his iPod. That girl with the white braids is reading. Oh my God, she’s got that erotica book, something about the different colors of grey. I’ve heard that book is straight up mommy porn. The balls on that girl are way impressive. I mean, reading about bondage and sex here? Isn’t that a book girls curl up in bed and masturbate with? One can only hope. I get the flash of hazel-brown eyes and a wildfire shoots down to my feet. Crap. She caught me looking. Heat rises up to my cheeks, and I take a sip of coffee. Fuck. Now I’m that creepy guy that’s staring at her. Yet, that’s not what her smile tells me. I peek. She’s still looking at me. Just to be sure, I look behind me and come face-to-face with a wall. Nothing transparent there, so yeah, she’s looking at me. Or the freaky Dali-like painting. Crap. Do I go over to her? What do I say? Oh now she’s laughing. What is up with this girl? Great. Now I’ve done it. She’s getting up to leave, probably so she won’t be stared down by a creepy guy who can’t keep it together in his own home, alone. You fucking dick. Oh shit. Is she walking over here? Is she going to talk to me? Oh crap, crap, crap. What do I say? Maybe she’s just going to the bathroom. Nope. I get a good look at her jeans and button down blouse as she stands before me. God I love buttons. “Hi.” Ms. Felony sets her book in my lap. “You look like you need this more than me.” I can’t get over the fact that the book in my hands, this very book, was in her lap. Now I’m touching it, which means I’m sort of touching her. Wow, I’m officially beyond desperate. “Satomi.” She reaches out a hand and, mindlessly, I take it. Her grip is firm and warm. Now that she’s this close, I can see the crows-feet spanning across her eyes. Older than thirty then. Her Asian heritage is obvious from this distance, but she’s tall. About five-seven. Half of me is screaming--name, give her your name. While the other half is dumbfounded and asking, what’s a name? Ms. Felony giggles, and I shake out of my reverie. “—Kal. Kalyan.” “Nice to meet you Kal.” She’s touching me. Dearest God, thank you. “Hope you enjoy the book.” Satomi smiles, turns, and I get a great view of her jean-clad ass. Wait, she’s walking away. Shit. This girl takes the initiative, and I completely botch it. Fuck a duck. What do I do? My next action could’ve been dick-inspired or heart-inspired, I really don’t know, but I get to my feet and follow her out the door. “Satomi.” She turns around and beams a smile at me. The kind of smile that stops hearts and feet. “I can’t take your book from you.” I hand “fifty shades” over, but she doesn't reach for it. “Weren’t you in the middle of it?” “I’ve read it three times already.” “Uh—” Intelligent conversation, I know. But what do you say to women? “What was your favorite part?” No hesitation on her side. “The ending.” Okay I deserve the monosyllabic answers. She’d stuck herself out there, and I completely failed her. But she looks like she is laughing at my discomfort. Even so, I am talking to a girl! Not just my mom. Not just ordering coffee. “The ending?” “The part where the girl leaves the guy to stick to her principles, even though she loves him.” This makes me look at the book in a whole different perspective. I thought she might tell me about one of the sex scenes. Christ, I’m a perv. “Isn’t it about bondage?” Satomi giggles. The sound wraps around my ears the way I wish her legs would. “It’s about pleasure.” And now I’m back to salivating, non-speech Kal. “It’s also about limits and communicating what you want.” There was a very long pause before she spoke again. “You have a hard time communicating don’t you.” Engaging my brain, I come up with the wittiest comment I could. “My internal monologue is not fit for public consumption.” “What about private consumption?” Satomi is completely out of my league. She is beautiful, witty, loves sex apparently and isn’t afraid to speak. Everything I’m not. Except for the love of sex part. A softness appears in her eyes. Like the light of intuition is on and she’s looking into me. “I make you nervous.” Automatic reaction has me shaking my head. Then I correct and nod my head. “A little.” “Why?” She takes my hand. The contact is a gentle reminder that she is a human being that deserves proper respect. I could have baulked. I could have shrugged. But she was holding my hand and it felt like a line to my heart. Taking a breath I collect my thoughts. “I don’t know what to say.” It’s the best thing I can come up with, and it's the truth. “You don’t know why I make you nervous or you’re nervous because you don’t know what to say?” “That last one.” “Then you don’t have to say anything. Even standing here we have this moment.” Wow. Yeah, way out of my league. “But I want to talk.” Biting her lip makes her look younger than my estimation. “How old are you?” Shit you fucking asshole, you’re not supposed to ask that. “I’m sorry, never mind.” “No, I don’t mind. I’m forty-one.” I whistle. “You’re way too young to have grey hair.” A very sexy, very mischievous gleam shines in her eyes. “And some guys go bald at twenty-five. How old are you?” I quirk an eyebrow and smile. “Young enough for you to claim cougar-ship.” She laughs. “I’m twenty-three.” Her eyes widened. “Oh.” “Please tell me that’s not a problem.” I keep my hand locked with hers and held firm. “I mean it’s enough to be shot down for not having the right hair or clothes, but my age I can’t help.” She hesitates. “It’s a problem that shouldn’t be a problem.” Satomi looks away from me for the first time. Deflated, I squeeze her hand. “Let me see you safely to your car.” “I live across the street.” She pulls me in the direction of black pavement, and I pull her back. At this time of night there is little traffic, but all I need is some crazy speeding down “booty” boulevard over the blind hill as we’re crossing the street. “Jay-walking isn’t safe.” She laughs. I don’t. Satomi huffs out an adorable snort. “You’re serious.” “There’s a cross walk right there.” I let go of her hand and point at a distance of maybe five-hundred feet. “Oh my God, you’re going to make me walk all the way around when my house is right there?” She points to a row of condominiums. They are your typical wood and stucco luxury apartments. “Yes.” She cocks her head and takes my hand again. “Well, I guess that means I can spend more time with you.” My breath catches and a wave of perverted and not-so-perverted thoughts came to mind. I might get laid. Does she want to see me again? Does her whole body feel as soft and warm as her hand? What other books does she read? Will she invite me up? I wonder if she’ll let me take down those braids and comb my fingers through her hair. Why do all the cool girls have some aversion to me? Because I’m a fucking asshole, that’s why. Satomi pulls me in the direction of the cross-walk and I submit to her guide. God, if I get laid by this mare, I’d be her slave. Sated and happy, she could pull me around all day. And thinking these things makes me a chauvinistic asshole. We reach the cross walk, and the button chirps its acknowledgment of pedestrians. I had to talk, even if she seems content on silence and holding my hand. “So, do you go get coffee every night?” That twinkle in her eye appears again. I recognize it in a way. A combination of knowing and confidence. “Not every night.” I stare at the buttons on her shirt wanting to fiddle with them. I could reach over and pop one off one-handed. Except, I have a book in one hand and my other clasps hers. “See, you know what to say.” My mouth goes completely dry. I am a failure at this. “Girls kind-of want to talk about things like clothes, and I don’t know anything about that.” Except how to operate buttons or zippers. “Then maybe you should be talking to women.” God she’s so smart. And I’m so dumb. “What do women want to talk about?” The light turns green for us, and I happily walk her across the street and back up the way we came on the other side. “You in college?” “Yeah.” I blush. A reminder I am too young for her. “What’s your minor?” I baulk a little. “My minor? Aren’t you supposed to ask about my major?” “If you’ve got a minor, it means you have a contingency plan. A good thing to have.” “If I had my way, I’d like a minor in fucking with a major in relationships.” Oh God was that my outside voice? She howls. Tears stream from her eyes. “I think that would be a popular duo.” Her acceptance bolsters my confidence. “Hey, they are complimentary. Too bad Rockford School of hard knock-ups doesn’t run more courses.” “What kind of requirements do you think you’d need to get in?” She wipes a tear from her eye. “Personal audition after a video introduction.” I look down at the book. “Maybe a written dissertation.” Satomi is the kind of girl to fill in the blanks about what kind of video, audition and dissertation I was considering. All of it had sex before each required format. She leans a bit into me, pushing me down a curvy pathway. “Tell me something.” I look around at the condominiums. “They say older women like sex more. Is it true?” She smirks at me. I wonder if I’ve gone too far in asking. “Honey,” she drawls. “How am I supposed to respect you in the morning if bedding you is too easy?” My brain flips over, and my dick twitches alive. “What?” The first thing I think is I’m going to get laid. Then the implications of what she said filter through. “Are you…” I look back at the coffee shop. “Did you…” I turn back to her. “Did you go to the coffee shop to pick up a guy?” She hid her laugh through a beautiful, well-preserved hand. “I went to the coffee shop to get coffee. But you’re way too easy.” “Okay,” I held the book up in defense. “Go back to that respect part. You’re saying I can have a one-night stand with you tonight but there’s a chance of seeing you again if I resist?” “See, you understand women.” I do a double take. She has me pinned and figured out. Or she thinks she does. A smile slips across my face. “Then I choose to leave you at your door tonight and see you again.” She squeezes my hand and leans into me. “Oh, I’m not letting you go that easy.” That sulky voice. The promise in her eyes. Her words get me thinking about how she’d taste with my nose at the apex of her thighs. How she’d feel if I bent her over and took her from behind, then face-to-face with her legs wrapped around my hips. How many positions could we do in one night? My knees suddenly have no hinges. They turn solid as pudding. “But, I’d rather have more than less.” Asian eyes drill into mine. “The only problem with talking to women is they know what you’re thinking.” She is so close I can smell the mocha on her breath. “Satomi, that’s not fair.” Her lips cover mine. Heaven lies between our tongues. The heavy book in my hand falls away making a thunk and a rustle. One hand roams her body. The other pulls her closer to me. In all my haze, I tell myself to be a good kisser. I need to be. Girls judge you by first kiss. So I am slow yet demanding. I have to show her I have some confidence in my minimal skill. Oh, yes. Choose me. Fuck me. I pull away. “What if I said I couldn’t resist. That there is something about you. Would you see me later?” She opens her eyes, slowly. Yes! My academically inclined noodle did a proverbial fist pump. I fucking impressed her. I might get laid AND see her later. This felt good. I felt alive. My erection might not be in vain. Then her eyes turn down and my heart sinks. “Hey, if this is about the age thing…” How could I convince her it didn’t matter? “What am I doing?” She shook her head. “I’m old enough—” I put a finger across her lips. Girls can get away with looking adorable when they do it to guys. Me? I look like a brute smashing her lips together. A tongue strokes my index digit. My spine shivers all the way down. That just makes me want to fuck her all the more. She kisses the pad of that restraining finger, and I knew I only have one chance. “What if I put make-up on to look older?” She pulls back with a disturbing amount of scrutiny, but I can tell she is thinking about it. She seems amicable to the idea. “You’d put make-up on to look older?” Her eyebrows scrunch together in disbelief. “Yeah, I can do it in about fifteen minutes. Give me another ten and I can dye my temples grey.” That look of incredulity makes me think about how gay that sounds. “I’m studying to be a special effects guy. I totally pull off old. You want wrinkles? I’m really good at those.” She laughs in a nervous kind of way that means no, but she says, “Oddly enough that’s actually comforting.” “So what do you say? Tomorrow? Same place? About six? I’ll buy you a coffee and a pastry.” “Big spender!” She laughs for real this time. But she pulls back in a way that tells me I haven’t won her over on the idea. “Hey, you took a chance on me.” I raised my arms in offering. “I came a-running, so give me a chance.” I smile as big as the corners of my mouth can go. “I’ll make it worth your while.” She purses her lips, not in a scowl, but in a trying-not-to-laugh way. “All right.” Even though I just fucked myself out of a lay tonight, I have a date with a woman tomorrow. “You want me older than you? Ten years older? The same age?” “Not too old.” She drawls looking at me with different eyes. I like it. She is evaluating me or rather peering inside me. “Maybe a little younger than me.” That smile of hers is really something. Light, carefree, promising playful teasing and, oh damn, I’d do anything to see that mouth wrapped around my cock. The thought makes my dick act like some marsupial’s prehensile monster. Somewhere along the line my wanting became less desperate and more yearning. I ache in a different way. Not only for release. I wanted her to know me. Satomi isn’t some chick to pick up at a bar or a coffee shop. She is a goddess to be worshipped. The kind of goddess that receives and reciprocates. “You boost my ego.” She sighs. “I’d better let you go.” Not after that comment. “I’ll see you to your door.” “We’re here.” And so we are -- at a door. Number one twenty three. A question drags up my balls and through my mouth. “May I kiss you goodnight?” She looks so venerable. Her eyes grew big. A stammering Satomi is irresistible. I shouldn’t have pushed. She’d kissed me just a moment ago. But that came from a lust she controlled. I hope she didn’t think I expected anything. Okay, yes, she led me down this road, but it’s not ON until the clothes are OFF. I shouldn’t have said anything but the last word—“Goodnight.” Torn in that moment of indecision, whether to take the lead or allow her the choice, I freeze. She is a lady that can make up her mind. She has every right to refuse me. It is the wisest thing for her to do actually. She doesn’t know me. I am acting a little predatory. Shouldn’t I back off and let her take the lead? Fuck it. I kiss her. My tongue seeks to find what promises that mouth offers. She gives back. Two souls yearning to find each other in this slight dance of dominance. Sliding in and out, darting my way to the smooth underside of her tongue she chases me with her own intoxicating skill. My probing turns desperate while she takes in everything I give. I lean in close. My hips pump embarrassingly against her. My cue to pull away. “Sorry.” I pant. Satomi, wild eyed and panting, presses against the door wildcat style. Fuck, I shouldn’t have done that. “I promise to be a perfect gentleman tomorrow, please forgive me.” “I don’t want a gentleman.” “Fuck Satomi, don’t say that. I’m a beast.” “Gentlemen don’t get laid.” I am perilously close to losing it. The rise in my heartbeat hasn’t slowed. I am not going to make it to my car or her bed. “Goodnight Satomi. I will see you tomorrow.” I turn knowing there isn’t much time. The front of my too small pants rub against my hard cock. I just have to make it around the corner. Out of sight I slam face first against a bumpy stucco wall. I pump, one, two and then shameful bliss. My dick throbs in excruciating pleasure, annihilating any pride I might have left. God, I really have to take care of this celibacy thing. Two minutes of catching my breath later, I notice a chill in the air and my cold gooey front-side. Scraping myself off my concrete lover, I find the way back to my car. Dick placated I go home. It feels so good to get under the covers and be able to fall asleep instead of fighting my hungry cock’s daily supplication. * * *Applying weird make-up or creating creatures from latex, molding and a paint kit isn’t as difficult as applying subtle natural-looking wrinkles. First, you have to get twenty-year-old skin looking less elastic. The aging process takes a bit of handy work and subtle strokes. So it’s very annoying when my attachment, located between my legs, acts like a fifth limb and starts asking for attention in the middle of applying the final touches. Don’t get me wrong. I love my dick. My dick brings me a lot of pleasure. I would not part with that portion of my anatomy. However, I can see the benefits of a detachable penis. I put on jeans, a clean shirt and kept my mind off Satomi while I brush stroke my face with natural color dye. One of my friends said to me once that in the Victorian era guys use to wear make-up and preen for women. Originally, it was guys strutting around like peacocks for attention. All to get laid. God, my Satomi didn’t need to get dressed up for me. Her beauty was in how she made me want to try. Christ, I haven’t even had one date with her, and I’m already calling her “my” Satomi. I pull back for a final look in the mirror. Not bad. I’ve got that Richard Gere thing going on. A little grey in the mane, a few crow’s feet. I really like how I aged the pallor in my cheeks. Even through my nervousness my dick waggles around. Fuck, did it think—oh wait, no, it doesn’t. I have to be the one to tell the fucker to calm down. As if that’s possible. My dick is a horny erratic mastiff chasing cats, pulling me around by the waist, while my brain gets left behind. It’s annoying. The guy staring back at me though, he has control. Where youth and inexperience have agility, age has experience and wisdom. Yeah, that guy in the mirror has been through school, owns a house, and a dog. And he’s fucked lots of women. That guy frowns at me and amends that last sentence. No, he’s had women who adore him for what he brings to the table. Stability, feral masculinity and control. That guy is the guy I want to be. Fake it till you make it, baby.  Click below for Part 2 and the conclusion of Cougar Bait in the Coffee Shop. If you feel inclined to support me as an author, the complete version can be read in one sitting and is available at the retailers below: If you liked my story, please use the share buttons on the right hand side!! Dear Reader, 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. Taboo Fiction 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: https://www.facebook.com/snmckibben If you want to know when more of my stories are released, join my exclusive readers group at: Thank you! I hope you enjoyed Cougar Bait in the Coffee Shop. Sincerely, S.N. McKibben  Excerpt for “But For You, Yes”Copyright © 2012 S.N. McKibben “Can I ask you a question?” I posed in the bed with my muscled arm flexed holding up my head. Thoughts swam around in my mind about how I should ask my girlfriend of six months my deal breaker question. She rolled over slowly, staring at me with that oh-so-familiar serious look. Melonie was the intuitive type. She always knew when I wasn’t joking and when my jokes had truth to them. It made her an invaluable companion, along with her olive skin, ebony hair, and eyes with the power of a black hole. That combination of hers never failed to get me to “rise” to any occasion she wanted. Plenty of those occasions were kinky enough to make me have hope that this relationship could go much further than ones in the past and fulfill my sexual perverseness. “What do think about back-door love?” I thought I was being as suave as possible about the subject but wasn’t reassured by her giggles and shaking head. She climbed over me, pinned a kiss on my forehead and sauntered out of the bedroom. I lay there wondering what she had implied. Damn woman, that wasn’t an answer. Again, her intuitive nature deflected my question. A metallic squeak followed by hissing water from the bathtub rang like a mating call. Excited that this may be a “yes” to my real question, I flung the covers over and strode to the shower. She was already in, bent over adjusting the temperature, when I pushed the curtain aside and hopped in behind her. That friendly pull from my groin started the blood flowing, and I stroked myself in anticipation. Melonie straightened and turned to face me, “No.” Her tone of finality shocked me. She was always the one to coherece me into nerve-wracking situations when it came to hot monkey sex. And she was telling me “no” for the first time. I caressed her smooth arms, “No to shower sex, or no to the other question?”  Other Taboo Fiction you'll love!Lady Alene and the Widower Cougar Bait in the Coffee Shop The Demon Inside Me Escape to Vampire Dam Dr. Vampyre Spoils of Allsveil  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 CONTENTThe 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. Gone. 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. "My wife." She gives me a sheepish grin and nods her head. "She died." 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. I’m wanted. Needed. Yes. Touch me. Everywhere. 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.  Want your own copy of Lady Alene and the Widower? Click a button! Get your copy! Dear Reader, 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: Did you know I have an exclusive reader's group? If you want to know when more of my stories are released, click the button below to join my SWEEPSTAKES! Thank you! I hope you enjoyed Lady Alene and the Widower. Sincerely, S.N. McKibben Other Taboo Fiction you will love!Cougar Bait in the Coffee Shop The Demon Inside Me Escape to Vampire Dam Dr. Vampyre Spoils of Allsveil   Stories plaque me but none more than TRIAD. What started out as a bit of FanFic turned out to be the start of a life long love affair with writing. Or maybe, the endeavor of becoming a "real" writer. In 2005 I watched an anime called "Hellsing". The main character Alucard, became my true destination of the world of vampires. He was my inspiration for Marcus. Marcus started out as an extremely old Werewolf "keeper" in a true FanFic story where he and Casper were the only two characters of my original creations. I then began to explore the possibility of Marcus. Who was he? How did he become to be this Werewolf Keeper. In the fanfic version I foretold Marcus' death. I know how this character dies. But my thoughts were directed towards how he lived.  Every hero needs a heroine, and Platt had already been a seed in my mind after I played a card game called "Vampire: The Eternal Struggle" in the 1990's. In my mind Platt was not your typical ice queen that rejected her desires. On the contrary, she acknowledged the tendencies her body craved. She was strong willed but not obstinate. So many heroines have to "be the man" in the story and Platt was most certainly not that type of woman. She was undoubtedly feminine. She wasn't the type of woman to manipulate her way through men or life but rather played her hand the way it was dealt. When Marcus and Platt met, it was instant chemistry and the story rolled through my mind like an anime.  But as Marcus and Platt were developed something odd happened. A creature I'd never encountered before stepped out of Marcus and introduced himself and said to call him master.
At the time I laughed at him, to which he raised an eyebrow and smiled. And that smile was the most evil and tortured expression I'd ever seen. The dichotomy caught me off guard and I started to wonder about this Serenite who barred his teeth at me if I ever started to call him an "elf". Obviously, he was a mage but never used his power to hurt--but not for lack of trying. He revealed his secrets to me over a course of 4 years. 4 very long years of his mockery, snide remarks, ridiculing, and sarcasm. Asmara is one f-all of a task master. And he hardly sleeps. But TRIAD was not finished there and its story is still, to be continued... After the years of rewriting I am going to publish it with the goal date of June 27th, 2014. It's THE first story I completed and wrote during a time I had not yet found my first person voice. I tried first POV with this story but it would never work. The characters are too intricate, too complicated and too demanding. My hope is that I do them all justice. I know they deserve it. If you don't mind an intimate setting where you can hear the background noises of an author's home, this excerpt is for you! I'm not a professional voice-over but I get to use my voice for the inflections of my writing style. I think when you hear how I hear the words in my head, my voice in the writing comes alive. This is how I think, talk, act and live. Sorry the end is so abrupt...I hope you enjoy!
 I tweet my books one line at a painstakingly-160-character time with the hashtag of #sextimestory. The current Sex Time Story tweets is for my novella Escape to Vampire Dam. Our lead hero is a vampire named Jason. He protects our human heroine, Noir, from the zombies as they travel on a raft upstream to their destination (info you should know...zombies don't go in pools of water.) In this world the zombie apocalypse happened which forced the hand of vampires to protect their only food source (humans) from extinction and thus they band together and fight zombies. During my scheduling I tweeted this set of Escape to Vampire Dam: (note: During this scene, Jason is pole driving a raft upstream to their destination because he's a vampire and yes--he's that strong to be able to do so...and zombies are staring at them from the water's edge. Because zombies don't go in water they stand at the bank--and glare. Noir is freaking out because, well, there are zombies twenty feet from where she is and Jason is trying to keep her calm by answering her question about why their is a rule about humans and vampires not being allowed to have sex.) Looking at them just standing there, waiting patiently as if my death by their hands was inevitable. "We become bonded." Jason said to distract me from the zombies. I tore my gaze from the visible stench on shore. Even my eyes could smell them. "What?" "Christ." Jason narrowed his eyes. "Knowledge is power, Noir. Don't take advantage. Swear to me you won't." "Bonded? What does that mean?" Jason stopped rowing and held the craft steady against the current. "Swear to me. You will not manipulate a situation." What the hell? Lack of movement put me on edge. “Tell me what it means.” “It means we’ll do anything for those we bond with.” “Okay! So you bond, what's the big deal?”  The big deal for my vampires in Escape to Vampire Dam is that they bond with their human blood sacks. Imagine having a connection that will never go away--knowing a persons thoughts, desires, emotions and also being closely attached to them in a dependent way because they are your food--literally.
Now image that connection only working one way. You don't have the guarantee that a human won't just say "goodbye" and leave. When they're gone, you (the vampire) still have the connection until they die. Because you (the vampire) bonded with your human, now you'll hear their thoughts, feel them, still know them as they go through life without you. It's like having a loved one leave and not want to be with you but you still have to see them everyday. Oh well, find another blood bag. But even with all the disparaging names vampires give humans, their very survival depends on a human's whim. Not a real peachy feeling. Hence, no bonding--it's against the rules and vampires drink from plastic baggies. There's an explanation for that, but you can either read my slow painstakingly tweets with the hashtag #sextimestory or you can read all about it by purchasing a copy Here: http://www.amazon.com/Escape-Vampire-Heroes-Venture-ebook/dp/B00DTP2XWG Yes, shameless promotion, but if you were wondering about the why's to the world, now you know!  Hi! You seem nice. Wanna date my daughter? No!
That's the knee-jerk reaction to the question. But what if that demon is a gorgeous bad-boy gone straight laced who sings laments to her beauty, cooks fantastic meals, tries to bring out the best in your child and seems to make your daughter genuinely happy, even though you can see Cthulhu under the pretty-skin-mask? What then? Or even worse, what if your daughter is in love but can't see the blatant monster under the guise? Do you risk confrontation? Are you passive aggressive and maneuver a strike when the time is right? Or, would you try to get to know the thing before making any judgment calls? Poor Marcus, my main character in my latest WIP, finds himself to be that son-in-law from the Atra Solumn; which is basically hell. Rehan, Marcus' mother-in-law, reacts rather like a typical protective parent and rightly so. Rehan does so much as to not give her blessing for the marriage of Marcus to her daughter, Platt. In Rehan's point of view, a demon has seen fit to take her daughter away and she does everything possible to stop our heroine, Platt, from becoming a demon's bride. If you want tips on how to make a mother-in-law more amicable to you, then I wouldn't advise following the steps Marcus took for his wife-to-be. But the ride sure was entertaining!  Click the picture for an excerpt or get the eBook Okay, so maybe you won't get everything, but you will get your hearts desire, because taboos mean it's something you really, really want to do but for whatever reason it's not socially acceptable.
Why? Fuck all if I know! So far I've explored: Sleeping with whores ~ Lady Alene and the Widower Having sex in other than the vaginal hole ~ But For You, Yes Sleeping with an older lover ~ Cougar Bait in the Coffee Shop All the wrong fluids ~ The Demon Inside Me And now it's time for a different twist. Are rules made to be broken? Do you have to break them to get your hearts desire? If everything goes according to the broken plan was it okay to ignore orders? Jason wants Noir, but he's under orders not to have sex with her. Well, you know how well limits fly with me. Escape to Vampire Dam and all the others are now on KOBO ~ Except Lady Alene which will follow shortly. Below you can hear me sound like an idiot fleshing out what social taboo the latests Dark Heart Heroes is all about! 
I'm offering you a warning.
Yes, Demon Inside Me is now available but I really urge you NOT to buy it. I'm really serious. This is not a marketing ploy. This is an honest plea. I don't know what came over me. I wrote something that got other erotica writers to barf. So, you might be asking--why is it published? Oh trust me, I shoved it in a draw to die. I gave it no love or thought. But it wouldn't leave me alone. I can't say I'm exactly ashamed of writing it. I have a mind that wanders and it wandered way into disgusting territory. When I asked "why do blood drinkers have to take blood from the neck?" I came up with this story. I mean I know the Carotid artery is probably the best place to drain someone of blood, but is there another place? Zhiek, one of the main characters in Demon Inside Me found out a different way to extract blood that is just, well, not conventional. It's disgusting. Please don't read it. I don't want hate mail. I hope this thing just goes away and gets no sales. I'm not an author that insists everything I write gets published, but this one wouldn't let me go. I'm sorry world. This one just pestered me until I let it out. When I die, have mercy on my soul. Heaven won't take me and hell's afraid I'll take over. This story proves it.
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Welcome to The Enclave Thanks for taking a look at my little hodgepodge of a blog. The format and subjects of my blog has changed through the years as it's my log of S.N.McKibben's writing journey. You've now been sufficiently forewarned, happy reading! Categories
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