Category Archives: fiction

My 2016 Book List


A bookwhore who never talks about books is no bookwhore at all, right? (Sidenote: you would think by now that my computer would know that bookwhore is so a word! And spelt correctly.)

So anywho, since I am feeling lazy and must soon sleep, I will share with you the books I read in 2016. Yay for me- there are almost twice as many as there were in 2015! It seems that my interest in biographies made itself manifest this past year. Enjoy!

Lolita by Vladimir Nabakov (I was more disturbed than I thought I would be while reading this, considering all the controversy I’d heard about it.)

The Antelope in the Living Room by Melanie Shankle (I bought this to give to my friend as part of her bridal shower gift; however, it sucked balls, so I didn’t.)

Lake Wobegon Days by Garrison Keillor (A native of my Minnesota, Garrison is, and went to high school with my Auntie for a minute. The best part of this book was that, while Lake Wobegon is a fictional town, all the towns surrounding it are very real, and are all towns I live near.)

Secret Diary of a Call Girl by Anonymous (This book was only interesting because the author’s sexual inclinations rival my own. That is not to say that I have been or will ever be paid to do those things I so like doing. )

I’m No Angel by Kylie Bisutti (written by a former Victoria’s Secret Angel who gave up her wings because of her religious beliefs; how easily she gave up something that some of us of shorter stature could never hope to achieve…)

The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern (Received as a Christmas present from my best friend- damn does she know how to pick ’em.)

Playground by Jennifer Saginor (growing up hanging out at the Playboy mansion was such a drag, having all those boobies about..)

Sex, Drugs, Ratt and Roll by Stephen Pearcy (Yet another attempt of mine to get my Rockstar reading; I think I actually enjoyed it more than he did.)

The Great Gatsby  by F. Scott Fitzgerald (Great, of course.)

The Bride Stripped Bare by Nikki Gemmel (Another book I was going to gift to my friend as a bridal goof. I don’t remember much about it, except that I didn’t give it to her because it was horrible.)

The 19th Wife by David Ebershoff (A fictional telling of Brigham Young’s 19th wife. I learned a lot about them there Mormons.)

Whistling Past the Graveyard by Susan Crandell (Stolen from the bookshelf of my friend because of the title; a very fitting story to read during the times in which we live. I ended up suggesting it to my Aunt for her bookclub.)

Boundary Waters by William Kent Krueger (Another Minnesota author who I missed having lunch with because I was sick when my Auntie invited me to her silent auction winning.)

Kushiel’s Chosen by Jacqueline Carey (My only repeat read this year; I had planned on going to a masquerade based on the series, but alas, I spent all my moneys on books and glitter.)

Slade House by David Mitchell (This was read only because my friend denounced this book as the worst ever after HER friend raved about it. My friend was right.)

The Girl with the Lower Back Tattoo by Amy Schumer (I really wanted to like it. Amy is a much better comedienne than she is a writer.)

Not That Kind of Girl by Lena Dunham (Sorry, Amy. Your friend Lena is much better at writing about her life in such a way that makes me want to keep reading about it.)

While Beauty Slept by Elizabeth Blackwell (Winner of my Surprising Find of the Year, seeing how I found it at THE DOLLAR TREE. So good. A superb retelling of a classic fairytale with none of that ridiculous fairytale bullshit. Did I mention Sleeping Beauty gets the pox?!?)

Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children by Ransom Riggs (Because, ya know, the movie came out.)

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Baby Mine


I wrote this for a flash fiction contest. The writing prompt was to write about a demon who is really bad at their job and keeps making the life of the person he is possessing better. I can’t get it to publish on the website, so I guess you guys get to read it…

I know it’s against the rules to possess a baby, but come on. It was just too easy.
Felix Bartholomew Embry was born at 3:01 A.M. That was how he caught my attention in the first place. Any baby born just in time for the witching hour has a special pull for all of us demonic spirits. There were several of us in the hospital that night, but I was the first one to hear his borning cry.
“Ahh,” I thought to myself. “A pure soul ripe for the picking.” If I could feel anything remotely delightful, little Felix’s squalling would have filled me with a thrill to the tips of my toes, if I had toes. Instead, I had to be satisfied with a nefarious sensation as I made my way to the birthing suite.
As I entered, I took in the scene. Squalling babe resting not so silently on mother’s magnificent chest, proud father beaming down at them. I’ve never been fond of newborns; my newest conquest being no exception. In fact, for a moment, I wondered if some other insidious spirit had already beaten me there. Felix was a disturbing shade of violet, and his toothless mouth looked much wider than is comforting for a baby’s to look. I should have left right then.
“He’s so beautiful.” I would have laughed when his mother said so, but demons cannot laugh without a voice to use. I took one more look before attempting to enter Felix’s flailing body, and then I made my move.
I felt his limbs stiffen momentarily as I slipped in, but as I was not completely immersed, I couldn’t see what was happening. For a split second, I saw the hospital lights above burning down like brimstone from Heaven when his eyes rolled back in his head, but then I was stuck, and saw nothing. I shook myself, and felt the mother’s grip on him tighten when I did so. Ah. There. I settled in. I reached deep within myself and found my darkest, most terrifying voice. I couldn’t wait to see the parents reactions when they heard the voice of Beelzebub come out of their “beautiful” spawn.
“Hello, mama.” What the fuck?! I tried again.
“Daddy!”
Their faces reflected the shock that I was feeling. Not only were my words not coming out how I was saying them, but they were emitted in the most angelic child-like voice ever heard. I growled, and it came out in an adorable infantile giggle.
“Did you hear it?” The father looked in awe at his wife, and then his son, and back again. I tried to look around, but this gelatinous baby body I was in refused to obey.
This was a bad idea. A very bad idea.

Basically, no matter what I do, it comes out making little Felix look like an infant prodigy, and I’m stuck in here living a real-life version of Charlotte’s Web. Fuckin’ A.

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Living Dead Girl


It started with my kidneys. One day I woke up and they just weren’t there anymore. I don’t know how I knew. I mean, it wasn’t like that urban legend where the girl wakes up in a tub of ice to find a massive gash in her lower back that’s been stitched up after someone removed her kidneys. I woke up in my own bed, not in ice, but actually with my body temperature high because of my lime-green-and-fuschia-striped comforter. I panicked, and called Riley, my boyfriend at the time, at work.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” he had asked when I told him about my missing kidneys. “Are you high?”

When I said no, and tried to explain the situation, he blew up at me and told me he was busy at work, and that I needed to quit making stupid shit up. I realize now what an asshole he was, because he didn’t seem the least bit concerned that my body parts were beginning to disappear, even when he came over that night after work and saw how freaked I was. He stuck around for a few more months, but when I wouldn’t let it go, and then my pancreas disappeared, he told me he’d had enough of my shit. By that point, I wasn’t really sad to see him go.

I know, you’re wondering how my body can still function without kidneys and a pancreas. I don’t have an explanation, except to say that I’m not actually alive anymore. My shrink says I’m hallucinating; that if I take a minute and really ponder it, I might realize how silly it sounds that I’m still walking around and going about my life if I’m actually dead. My response to her was, “Why don’t you  think about how silly it sounds that a living person is functioning without the necessary body parts?”

Yeah, she didn’t like that. So she wrote me another prescription that I didn’t fill.

My sister was with me when my lungs disappeared. By then, I was pretty much resigned to the fact that I’d never be an organ donor, what with all my parts vanishing, but I let her know anyway, in case we happened to run a marathon and I came up short of breath. She knew about my other body parts, so she was sufficiently sympathetic. She offered to drive me to the clinic, and seemed relieved when they presented us with X-rays that clearly sported a healthy-looking set of lungs. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that they’d done that before- gotten my X-rays mixed up with another patient’s. I want her faith in our medical community to remain intact.

After that, I kept that fact that I dematerializing to myself. It’s bad enough that I’m dealing with the fact that I ceased to exist. I don’t need my friends and family aggravating the situation by telling me I’m more unhinged than Kanye West at an awards show. I may be missing internal organs, but my feelings are still there. I’m just hoping my heart dissolves before it gets broken, because at least that won’t hurt. I’ve always heard a broken heart is a tough thing to deal with. The real question is- can my heart still break if I’m already dead?

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Survive and Thrive Workshop


One of the really good reasons for having a best friend as an English major is that you get invited to join in such things as writing workshops on occasion. This is one of those times.

Our writing prompt for the day was this: What are your two most prevalent inner landscapes and how would you describe them?

My response?

My inner landscapes…. I’m not really sure they can be separated.

After all, can a person separate a piece of themselves from himself? There’s certainly a farm, although it’s been many many years since I’ve actually spent a goodly amount of time there.

As if that matters.

It is as vivid in my mind as this afternoon’s lunch.

There’s a hill across the gravel road that always seemed huge to me, which in reality is probably much more considered a grassy knoll.

Forgive me. I was small when last I saw it.

A barn, where countless hours were spent shoveling cow manure to the musical ramblings of The Judds and Alan Jackson.

I do wonder now why shoveling shit held such glamorous allure for a ten-year-old. Odd.

Over there, an almost matched pair of classic Chevy trucks are parked, given new life by a cousin I always thought was “the coolest”.

Behind the barn sits a row of pig huts, and beyond that a rather unimpressive cattle pasture seemingly bare of grasses, but still entertaining enough that I spent hours wrestling boulders the size of my head up,catapulting them onto the barely crusted-over cow pies.

What glorious explosions of leafy green poop!

I grin to myself, remembering the thrill.

That was then, a simpler, more innocent time, but it’s still here within me somewhere.

Moving on.

The landscape of now is rife with imagination; mixed, too, with the stress and unease of humdrum, everyday life.

Oz, Neverland, Wonderland, and Willa Wonka’s Chocolate Factory all appear at times, though my yellow-brick road is sometimes blocked with piles of unpaid bills and regrets.

No. No regrets. I must remember there are no regrets, only choices that have taught me more than I might otherwise have known.

To my left is Ireland, because who DOESN’T want to go to Ireland?

It is, after all, the place where all the epic fantasy movies are made.

Alice’s white rabbit runs past, late as always, across the moors of England to my right.

You know- the ones Eustacia Vye spent so much time on.

It depends on which day you are here, what other places you might see.

New York City is never too far, the night lights of which rival Vegas, which is just there.

You see? Don’t mind the mostly nude women walking about- we all need something pretty to look at.

If you prefer, I can point you in the direction of the menagerie.

The unicorns and mermaids will be awake by the time you get there.

Of course, it snows on occasion, because I AM from Minnesota; our weather here can be….fickle. worries. The sun will come out tomorrow.

A little red-headed orphan told me so.

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Mr. Fix- It


Before.

Greg observed his own face in his bathroom mirror, and squinted his eyes in a furious glare at the reflection. He gripped either side of the pedestal sink to keep from putting his fist through the glass, and watched his own jaw clench and unclench. He was a fucking coward, and the fact made him completely livid. He pushed himself away from the sink in disgust and flipped the light switch too forcefully on his way out of the room.

Casey had just left, and Greg’s pulse was still pounding with the left-over desire she’d dumped on him. Just the remembrance of her on her knees in front of him in his own kitchen brought another surge of lust through his body, and he flopped down angrily on his worn-out couch. His longing was interrupted by a wince of pain when he felt the springs dig into his back, and he cursed inwardly.

He tried to collect his thoughts, but the feelings left over from Casey’s visit made his brain a chaotic jumble. He took a deep breath and adjusted his crotch, forbidding his dick to erect itself at every thought of her.

Since he’d fucked her in her apartment, he and Casey had made love on several other occasions. Greg snorted at the thought. “Made love” was not what it had been at all; more like, animalistic, savage, licentious fucking. It didn’t matter that Casey looked like a completely innocent, albeit sexy-as-hell school teacher- the feelings she evoked from Greg were baser than anything he’d ever felt. When he wasn’t fucking her, he wanted to be, and when he was, it was like he’d scored a handful of X at a rave; every time was like the height of his existence, but the after effects made him feel like complete shit.

He ran his hands down the sides of his face and let out a exasperated breath. She didn’t want anything else from him. The idea was like a shot to the chest with an electric jolt. He knew it was completely ridiculous that she would want anything serious from him, given the huge gap in their ages, but he just wanted to get to know her. He knew exactly what her excited cunt felt like to his fingers, and he knew how glorious it felt to have her near-perfect lips wrapped around his cock, but he knew next to nothing about her, and it bugged the shit out of him. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t tried to find out, but she kept her distance, and even after she’d come quivering to orgasm, she maintained her independent attitude.

Greg’s anger was at himself, for not forcing her to open up, or at least for not being able to control his incredible lust enough to turn her down. Casey was clearly emotionally damaged; he’d never met a woman who was able to separated sex from feelings, but she did exactly that. He knew that continuing their liaisons  as they was not the way to heal that damage- he felt proud of himself that, as a man, even he knew that. He was also aware of the fact that Casey perhaps was not looking for someone to take care of her hurts, but Greg couldn’t help it. He wanted to. Her beautiful face and her buoyant persona made him want to fix it. The problem was, with her luscious tits and gorgeous ass, he kept forgetting that.

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642 Things to Write About: Hands


It’s been awhile since I’ve picked a topic out of my handy dandy writing prompt book, but I figured today would be a good day to do so, since I have limited time in which to write, and no ideas in my head. This one caught my interest immediately:

Write a love scene from the point of view of your hands.

Of course I would pick this one!

We itched, my partner and I, as our owner looked at her man lustily. I, the right hand, reached out and caressed his cheek, and the two-days-worth of whisker growth was not unpleasant; it reminded me of velvet- freshly cleaned, rust-colored velvet. My partner, the left hand, couldn’t resist mimicking my act, as our collective body of nerves spoke. She touched his other cheek, and I saw her move her thumb repeatedly over the plush forest of reddish beard. We pulled the beloved face toward that of our owner, and as her lips touched his passionately, a thrill passed through us, urging us to move lower.

I ran my forefinger down the man’s neck as Left moved into the grove of thick, longish hair that was almost identical in color to the whisker grown. She slid the hair between her fingers again and again, pulling just slightly, enough that I could feel the man’s reaction. His pulse started to speed up under the finger I had placed on his neck, and I moved my other fingers into a grip. I and Left once again pulled him forward to meet our owner’s lips, and we heard a quiet moan of desire emitted from him.

Left was planted firm, with no intention of moving from her lush cradle of hair, but as I moved down the man’s body, she loosened her grasp, knowing we together would produce a stronger reaction in our victim. His shirt had been removed already, and we slid down to his chest, admiring the solidness beneath our palms. Our fingers instinctively curled ever so slightly, pressing the tips of our newly manicured fingernails into the ivory skin. Gooseflesh was raised beneath our fingertips as we scored our way down the ribs and past to the waistband of the man’s jeans. He shivered, and our owner smiled, knowingly.

I wanted so desperately to feel what affect we’d had on the man’s cock, as I was sure it was straining against the zipper of his pants, but I resisted. Instead, I flipped over and ran the back of myself back up the way I had come, as Left did the same. Once again, we grazed the pale skin, raising rosy trails as we went. I couldn’t bear it, and tweaked a nipple as I passed, a little harder than I should have. The man inhaled sharply at the unexpected pain, but his breath was cut off as our owner covered his mouth with her own.

We couldn’t wait longer, Left and I, and I stuck two fingers into the waistband of the jeans, tempting Left. She responded by moving a thumb and forefinger over the fly, undoing the button and lowering the zipper achingly slow. We slipped our fingers around to the back, and as we pushed the jeans off, we stopped to grope the luscious ass that was now exposed. I went around to the front, and was not disappointed when met with a throbbing piece of manhood, which I gripped firmly, causing another moan. Our owners lips were there then, and I held a good portion of erection as her tongue met the tip of it before it disappeared within her mouth.

Left was relishing the feel of firm buttocks clenching and unclenching as I stroked my assigned body part. It has always amazed me that something so marble-tough can feel so soft at the same time. I enjoyed myself until I was pulled around to copy my partner, sinking my nails into the pliable flesh as the man’s hand groped the hair of our owner. She moaned and took him in as deep as she could in her mouth, causing him to growl animalistically in his throat before tensing. Left and I held him there tightly, until we knew his pleasure was over.

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Charlie


Previously…

An almost inaudible sound came from his throat when I did it, and I knew I had him. I felt his cock straining against the fly of his pants, but when my fingers pulled his zipper down, he moved out of my reach. His fingers slipped out of me once again, and his other hand left my breast. My body felt absolutely bereft from the loss of his touch, and I couldn’t help the whimper that happened to come. I should have known better.

Charlie demands complete control- during fucking and everything leading up to it. Not that he’s into S&M, though he isn’t above a playful bite or spanking every now and then. I mean that every move, every act no matter how small, must be his decision. He will allow me to undress him, but I am only permitted to once he decides it is time. To so blatantly disregard this rule sets the mood for everything that follows. I’ll tell you a secret: I didn’t forget on accident.

I watched his face in the mirror; I saw him struggling with the thought of breaking his own rule, and I held my breath, hoping he wouldn’t. I felt a moment of relieved anticipation when I saw his jaw firmly set, but I was not expecting what happened next.

His hands were on the neckline of my dress, and the next second, a bold ripping sound filled the silence as he forcefully tore my dress from neckline to hem. My Urban Decay’d lips formed a surprised “o” as I and Charlie looked at my now mostly-nude body in the mirror. I felt gooseflesh run up and down my skin in the split second before Charlie’s hand pushed my upper body down against the table in front of me.

He entered me roughly, but I was ready. So ready. His very first thrust left him so deep inside that I cried out, from pain or pleasure, or maybe a little bit of both. He withdrew, then again thrust himself into me. His hands gripped my hips, not gently, and I felt the familiar pleasure already beginning to rise in me. My right hand pressed against the mirror, causing it to fog there, and I pushed my rump ever so slightly into Charlie. I was immediately reprimanded with a welcome slap on my rear, warning me to stay still. His cock buried so deeply inside me, and the thrill of his spanking heightened my excitement; I wriggled against him, inviting another smack. The second one stung, and Charlie drove himself into me again and again, not waiting for me to further taunt his itching hand.

With every thrust, he reached the end of me, and my pleasure blossomed. I tried to move in such a way to prolong it, but my lover held me firmly in place, and was unrelenting. He knew what he did as he repeatedly pulled himself out of me and then pressed himself in again, hard and at an unwavering pace. It was clear he meant to punish me for my slip with his zipper, and I relished every moment until he pushed himself into me once again and pressed my hips harshly to him. He was as deep as he could go, and he filled me so completely that my growing pleasure exploded, and I let out a heartfelt moan. Charlie shuddered, and spent himself inside me. From my bent-over position, I could feel every throb of his cock. I used my inner muscles to squeeze him, and he moaned loudly before pulling back.

“Damn you, woman.” He said it because rough sex hadn’t been what he was in the mood for, but I couldn’t help giggling when he said it, because of the irony of his words. I made eye contact with him in the mirror, and when I saw the amused sparkle there, I knew he wasn’t really pissed.

I stood up as Charlie put himself back together and assessed my torn dress. There was no saving it. Damn. I hadn’t even gotten to wear it out in public yet.

Charlie eyed me, reading my thoughts. “I’ll call Nina and get you another dress, ” he assured me, and I smiled, because it amused me that not only did this man know who the designer of my dress was- he also knew her well enough to call her up out of the blue. Yet another reason to adore Charlie.

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