Wednesday, August 31, 2016

WIP It Up Wednesday! (#pnr #shifter #wip)

WIP logo

I don’t normally participate in the WIP It Up Wednesday meme, partly because I usually host guests on Wednesdays. In addition, I’m a bit superstitious about sharing unpublished (and unedited) work.

However, I’m not hosting anyone today. Meanwhile, I’ve been putting up a lot of “philosophical” posts, so I thought you might like something more straightforward for a change. So here’s a bit from my novel-in-progress, The Werewolf and the Vampire. It’s a MMF paranormal erotic romance, with a bit of a chick lit flavor.

Let me know what you think!


Before she’d even opened her eyes, she recognized him by his scent, feral and intoxicating. Defying the excruciating ache at the back of her head, her pulse quickened and her pussy clenched. She was hardly surprised to find herself lying on the narrow bed at the back of Zack Kane’s shop. The owner perched on a chair beside her, his rugged face drawn into a worried scowl, which persisted even after he noticed she’d awakened.

How do you feel?” he asked. “Dizzy? Is your vision blurry? Any nausea?”

Bianca explored the lump at the back of her head with cautious fingers. It was tender, but not bleeding, as far as she could tell.

Feels like a gang of trolls is hammering inside my skull,” she replied. “But I can see all right, and my stomach is fine. Meanwhile,” she continued. “I’m wondering just what I’m doing here.”

Zack shifted in his chair and focused his attention on his big hands. “I—um—happened to be on 12th. Saw you lying unconscious at the foot of some stairs, so I brought you back to my store.”

Again? Quite a coincidence, don’t you think? Maybe you’re my guardian angel.” She winced at the sarcasm she heard in her voice. She should be grateful for his help. But she knew he was lying.

Ignoring the throbbing pain, she levered herself into a half-sit.

You’ve been stalking me, haven’t you? Following me around?”

I thought someone might hurt you.” He spoke so softly she could barely make out the words. “That guy in your office. He’s dangerous.”

Exactly what Jim had said about Kane.

It wasn’t he who attacked me.” She sat up straighter, willing him to meet her gaze. “Did you see who did?”

No, I didn’t. Didn’t see anything. Just you, lying there, motionless, injured…”

Finally he raised his eyes to hers. The anguish she saw there burned away her annoyance. All she felt was sympathy—and renewed desire.

Don’t worry. Please. I can take care of myself.” She clasped his hand in her smaller one, giving it what she hoped was a comforting squeeze. His skin was hot and dry, as though he had a fever. Her pussy spasmed. She wanted that heat, inside her.

You don’t understand. There are people—forces—powers… Those guys have no souls. They’ll do anything.”

So you did see them! Who were they? Tell me, Zack.”

He shook his head. She searched his face, staring into those melted chocolate eyes, seeking the truth. There was something so familiar about the lively darkness she saw there...

Oh my God! It was you! The dog—the wolf—whatever!”

New York wasn’t normally subject to earthquakes, but Bianca could have sworn the world lurched underneath her. Given her business, she’d already been primed to accept the reality of vampires when Jim had demonstrated his powers. But werewolves? Could it really be true that beings who were half-human and half-beast walked the streets of Manhattan?

And if so, what other supernatural creatures might she encounter?

Tuesday, August 30, 2016

Review Tuesday: Safe Word by Molly Weatherfield (#ReviewTuesday #bdsm #StoryOfO @PamRosenthal)

Safe Word by Molly Weatherfield
Cleis Press, 2003

When the Story Of O was first published in 1954, it shocked the world. The secret domain of Roissy and its privileged, perverse masters, the willing self-abasement of O in their hands, were completely alien to contemporary moral sensibility. O's journey to complete surrender frightened and attracted the reader because of its strangeness, its incomprehensibility. O herself was on a path of discovery, gradually coming to understand the depth of her submissive nature.

In Safe Word, Molly Weatherfield invokes Roissy both implicitly and explicitly. Her heroine Carrie has been auctioned off to a stranger and committed to a year of absolute servitude. Carrie's new master as well as the master who sold her belong to a shadowy network of wealthy S/M afficionados—the "Association". Times have changed—the association is run by a woman rather than a man—but not that much. The association sponsors gatherings where slaves serve as candelabra, benches, and statuary, not to mention receptacles for the guests' varied lusts. They stage races where human ponies, plugged, bridled, harnessed and urged on by their drivers' cruel whips, compete to avoid the punishment that will come with defeat.

Carrie, like O, thrives in this sort of environment. After a year of harsh discipline, she returns to her original master Jonathan, polished and refined by pain. The elegant curve of her neck, the grace with which she kneels, the eagerness she shows in response to his abuse, enchant and excite him. The novel is structured as a set of stories that Carrie and Jonathan tell each other, as they struggle to comprehend the consequences of their year apart.

Ms. Weatherfield captures the nuances of Carrie and Jonathan's relationship with exquisite clarity. The breath-stealing excitement of complementary fantasies. The heady familiarity of remembered responses recognized. The uncertainty about what the other wants, the desire to please, the aching need for the validation that says yes, you are the one, the special one to whom I am intimately, eternally connected, and I know you feel the same. It is all there, and it all rings true. The book begins with their rendezvous in Avignon, and immediately, the reader is immersed in the subtleties of their interactions. They retreat to a hotel, where they proceed to fuck exactly like two lovers who have been separated for a year, lovers who played the role of master and slave but who are not quite sure now who holds the power. The writing here is sensitive, vivid, and intense.

It is only when Jonathan asks Carrie to tell him about her experiences that the book begins to lose its edge. Carrie is articulate and precise in recounting her trials and adventures. She spares no detail. She shares with Jonathan the many beatings, violations, and humiliations inflicted on or observed by her. Her stories are populated by gorgeous, perfectly-trained slaves, insatiable mistresses, strict but passionate trainers. Carrie portrays the decadent world of the Association with the skill that one would expect of her, a woman with a doctorate in literature.

Unfortunately, it is no longer 1954. Such tales have lost their power to shock. Today, leather-clad vixens with whips and stiletto heels are used to market breath mints. Fetish is fashion. The Internet can deliver images that make Roissy look like Sunday school. Carrie's stories, however well told, are hackneyed and by today's standards, unremarkable. This is all the more true because they involve so little emotion.

The members of the Association are for the most part bored, jaded sensation-seekers. The slaves that serve them are beautiful puppets with little sense of themselves. We see a few flashes of personality, for instance, in a scene where Carrie is given over to be abused by two slaves whom she vanquished in a pony race. Overall, though, the participants in these lascivious tales are undistinguished and indistinguishable. With one or two exceptions, they do not really care about what is going on. It is a diversion, nothing more.

The core attraction of dominance and submission, in my opinion, at least, is the interplay of emotion between the slave and master. Trust and surrender; the intoxication of power; desire and devotion; curiousity and courage. These are ingredients in the alchemy that transforms pain into pleasure, and more than pleasure.

Carrie and Jonathan practice this magic, particularly early in the book. Jonathan, recalling his first meeting with her, is movingly eloquent. He notices her at a party, "sweet and shaggy-looking, graceful and a little lost and dreamy...Great ass". Following her into a room where someone had put on a bondage video, he discovers her, revealed:

The girl with the ass was gazing up at the screen as though it were telling her the meaning of life. Flushed face, parted mouth quivering, guilty, enthralled, spectacular. Her face was a real porn show, and I could gladly have watched it all evening... In the midst of a noisy, unconcious crowd, tooshe was the only one in the room really seeing the movie, and I was the only one really seeing her. She'll look like that for me, I thought. She'll do anything and everything I want.

She did, too. For a year and a half. She took everything I dished out, meekly and silently challenging me to raise the ante.

This is what I look for in an erotic novel, this kind of insight, this thrill of connection that always takes my breath away. Safe Word has some of this sizzle, but ultimately I was disappointed. The conclusion, in particular, involved a Dom ex Machina whom I found somewhat annoying.

Nevertheless, Safe Word is literate and well-crafted, and certainly crammed with nasty S/M scenes involving every combination of genders. Readers who are entertained more by characters' actions than by their inner lives will likely enjoy Safe Word. Readers looking for something more challenging and inventive might, like me, feel that Ms. Weatherfield had let them down.

Monday, August 29, 2016

The Boys of Summer (#lust #nostalgia #youth)

couple on the beach

I never will forget those nights;
I wonder if it was a dream.
Remember how you made me crazy -
Remember how I made you scream.
~ Don Henley, “The Boys of Summer”

It’s the last week in August, and this song is playing in my mind. I hadn't listened to it in a while, but when I looked it up on YouTube, I discovered that my reaction hadn't changed. “The Boys of Summer” still brings tears to my eyes and sends chills up my spine.

If you're not familiar with the song, go here:

This isn't a particularly good video, but the lyrics will paint their own pictures for you. Or at least, they do for me.

Why does this bittersweet song touch me so deeply? One reason is the fact that it so perfectly captures the blind intensity of teenage passion – the way sex and love get totally confused when you're burning up with desire. When you're young, the nights are magic and they last forever. Everything kiss, every touch, is new and overwhelming. I don't know about you, but I find this song incredibly erotic, perhaps because it reminds me of my own early loves, swept away by the tides of time.

In fact “The Boys of Summer” isn't really a summer song at all:

Nobody on the road;
Nobody on the beach.
I can feel it in the air,
The summer's out of reach...

But it celebrates the glories of summer, bare limbs, bronzed bodies, and heat that rivals the sun. The song pulls you back to the season when the beach was crowded and girls drove around in convertibles, when rock and roll and scent of sun tan oil filled the air. In the brilliant light of summer lust, forever seems possible, even likely.

The song tells a story, too, one that I might try to express in my own medium some day, if I get the chance. Just three verses, and yet I know the characters: the fickle, flirtatious girl “smiling at everyone”, the brash, naïve young man, hurt yet boasting “I'm gonna show you what I'm made of”. And then the third verse, surely the voice of greater wisdom and maturity, “those days are gone forever; I should just let them go.”
But he can't, and neither can I. The memories tempt me back, to relive the thrill and the pain of first love or first lust – if there's a difference.

While looking for a recording to include in this post, I noticed that “The Boys of Summer” was released in 1984 – more than three decades ago. And even then, I was wistfully recalling earlier summers. It's sobering to realize how long ago it was that I first experienced “those nights” of which this song reminds me. I guess I never will forget them. And honestly, I don't want to.

Sunday, August 28, 2016

Sunday Snog for Italy: The Ingredients of Bliss (#charity #disaster #giveaway)


This past Wednesday, a devastating earthquake struck a rural area in the mountainous Abruzzo region of Italy. Over 250 people are confirmed dead, while thousands have been left homeless. The centuries-old stone buildings in Amatrice and surrounding towns simply crumbled to rubble in the shock. Reconstruction is expected to take years.

My Sunday Snog today is dedicated to helping those affected by this disaster. I don’t have any stories set in Italy (got to remedy that!) so I’m giving you a sexy kiss or two from my French-themed erotic romance The Ingredients of Bliss.

Check out my excerpt below, then leave me a comment telling me what you think. For each comment I receive, I will donate one dollar to the Italian Red Cross for reconstruction.

In addition, I will randomly choose one person who comments to receive a free copy of this full length novel!

You can donate, too. Just go here:

Oh, and when you’re done with my snog, do click back to Sunday SnogCentral, where Victoria Blisse has links to lots more delicious kisses.

One sexy French chef. One kinky American TV producer. One ambitious Chinese gal who thinks she wants them both. The ingredients of bliss? Or a recipe for disaster?

Emily?Harrys voice boomed through the corridors, as if in answer to my thoughts.

In here. In Dantès cell.

Harry had to duck to get through the low doorway.Ah. I should have figured Id find you in a dungeon.He smelled of sunscreen, sweat and musk. Like Pavlovs dog, I started to get wet in response to the familiar stimulus.

I fought my rising need.Hi, Harry. I was just about the head back…”

Before I could stop him, he’d clasped me to his chest. “I missed you, love.” He buried his nose in my wind-tousled hair, breathing deep then nibbled my ear. “You smell delicious.”

I tried to untangle myself from his arms.I need a shower.My laugh sounded hollow.

That’s why you smell so good. No, actually that’s not true. You always smell good. One whiff of your magic scent and I’m hard as a rock.”

He wasn’t lying. His erection prodded my belly as he ran his hands over my curves and burrowed into the crook of my neck.

Too bad there aren’t any iron rings or bars. You’d look so fetching, shackled to the dungeon wall.”

Harry, come one. Be serious!Once more I struggled against his embrace, without success. He only held me tighter. He was far stronger than I. My stomach did a dizzy little flip at this realization.Theyre probably waiting for us…”

He left off his nuzzling and gazed into my eyes. In the dim cell, his were full of shadows. “Let them wait. And I am serious, Emily. I’ve never been more serious in my life.”

I couldnt avoid the kiss. Honestly, I didnt want to. His mouth sealed itself to mine and his tongue forced my lips apart, claiming me. Lust roared through me, unleashed by the ferocity of his oral conquest. I tasted the sugary residue of his soft drink, the mint of his toothpaste, residual garlic and herbs from the ratatouille. His assertive male odor surrounded me, the essence of pure sex. I opened to him and let him take me. I had no choice.

He didnt fondle my breasts or pinch my bottom or insinuate his fingers into my drenched knickers. He did nothing but kiss me, pouring every ounce of feeling into that mouth-to-mouth connection. Without the slightest stimulation, aside from his taste and smell, the firmness of his lips and the probing of his tongue, I found myself trembling on the verge of climax. Irresistible power flowed from him, overwhelming me. Helpless, lost and grateful, I let myself go.

He understood what he was doing to me. He felt my last resistance crumble. My plans, my qualms, my logic all came to nothing when faced with the intensity of his desire. And as I surrendered, the kiss changed.

Now he sipped at my mouth rather than swallowing me whole. His tongue feathered over my lips, coaxing me to let him enter. He breathed into me, warm and sweet, gentle as drifting clouds on a spring day. Holding me close, so close I could feel the heartbeat under his sweat-damp shirt, he bathed me in his devotion.

My sex still tingled and sparked, but now some other sensation swelled in my chest, a rare joy that seemed on the edge of triggering both laughter and tears.
I love you, Emily.His voice was rough velvet, his lips moist against my cheek.More than I can ever say. More than I know what to do with.

Tell him, my rational self whimpered, weaker by the instant. Tell him youre leaving, before its too late.

I raised my face to his and offered him my mouth, and the truth.

I love you, too.”


Don’t forget to comment! Include your email address if you want to a chance to win the book!

Saturday, August 27, 2016

The Unpopularity of Infidelity (#cheating #romance #reviews)

Two weeks ago for my Sunday Snog I posted an excerpt from my MMF vampire novella Fire in the Blood. (That’s the post that has received more than eleven thousand views. I wish I understood why!)

Anyway, when I was over at Amazon confirming the buy link, I noticed a new review. Unfortunately, it is only three stars. The reviewer objected quite strongly to the fact that my heroine gets involved with another lover while she’s on vacation with her long-time boyfriend.

So while Maddie is riding a horse on a mountain trail she gets hurt and her horse bolts which is when Etienne finds and save her. He is a vampire who has been wandering alone for a long time. There was also Troy who is her lover waiting for her and worried.
It felt too much like cheating and like Maddie did not care enough about Troy her lover to not sleep with Etienne while she was lost. So that is one of my no's I am just not a fan of that personally so that ruined this story for me unfortunately. So I while I did think this book was very hot with a lot of steam, sadly this story was just not for me.

I was a bit surprised by this reaction. First, other reviews have been really positive. No other reader has mentioned this issue.

Second, this is a paranormal erotic romance. One of the tropes in this genre is what I like to call “supernatural lust”. Vampires, shifters and other deliciously sexy creatures of the night are outside the rules of normal human relationships. Their power calls to mortals, body and soul, and can be almost impossible to fight.

Third, Troy and Maddie are not married, or even engaged. In fact, the first paragraphs make it clear that their relationship has run into problems. That’s one reason why they’re in Jamaica for vacation—to spend some relaxed, quality time together and try to repair their bond.

Finally, it turns out that Troy is just as attracted to Etienne as Maddie is. The lovers reunite in a passionate threesome with the tragic but irresistible vampire.

Still, I know that many readers of romance view infidelity on the part of a hero or heroine as the ultimate sin. I suspect that this may be partly due to unfortunate real life experiences with cheating spouses, either their own or those of friends and relatives.

Humans are not fundamentally monogamous, though. I don’t have any definitive statistics, but I wouldn’t be surprised to find that the majority of marriages experience some issues related to one or the other partner having sexual interests or activities outside the relationship. In fact, proponents of open marriage argue that it’s more realistic to accept our polysexual natures and be open and honest with one’s partner about attraction to others.

Traditional romance, however, tends to embrace the concept that the connection between the hero and heroine (or hero and hero, if we’re talking about MM romance) is somehow special and unique—that the members of the couple are in some sense soul mates. Of course, not all romance subscribes to this appealing fantasy, but it’s a very popular notion.

Personally, though I’ve been married more than three decades, I don’t believe in the concept of “soul mates”. I’m enormously grateful for my marriage. I love my husband deeply. I also value his intelligence, his competence, his compassion and his sense of humor. I would never hurt him by taking a lover behind his back (not that this is at all likely anyway, given my age).

Still, I had quite a few relationships before my husband and I met. I’m not convinced that he’s the only man with whom I could have been happy, as romantic as that might be.

And personally, I enjoy stories where a character is torn between several lovers (as in my first novel Raw Silk), because this mirrors what I see in reality. Different individuals fulfill different needs. 
I agree that it’s hard to like a character who’s dishonest, who sneaks around behind her (or his) lover’s back, who doesn’t care about her partner’s feelings. Maddie is not like that, though, or at least I don’t see her that way.

That’s the thing about reading, though. Everyone brings her own perspective to the story, and interprets it in the light of her own experiences. This review has reminded me that even a hint of infidelity can be the kiss of death to a romance book.

Friday, August 26, 2016

It's Not About Sex (#eroica #desire #genre)

passionate woman

Anyone who has read my blog posts will know that I have a bit of a problem with genre labels. My own work doesn't fit into neat pigeonholes, and often, the fiction I enjoy most is just as stubborn. I've found that the best books frequently defy categorization – or create new genres, which is basically the same thing.

Advocates of labeling claim that assigning books to particular genres helps readers find what they like. I'd argue that it's just as likely to discourage readers from picking up something new that they might actually love.

If you had to pin me down, though, I guess I’d label what I write most often as “erotica”. Of course, this is the kiss of death from a marketing perspective. Many readers have the (mistaken) idea that a book that calls itself erotica will include constant, graphic sex. Some people think that this also implies an absence of plot. I sigh when I encounter this sort of attitude, which seems to be to be quite wrong.

You want my opinion? (Well, of course you do, or you wouldn't be reading my post...) I think that erotica is not about sex, per se. Erotica is fiction that focuses on the experience of sexual desire. Sexual desire may be a concomitant or precursor to physical sexual activity, but it doesn't have to be. Desire in its many variants (arousal, lust, love, obsession) is fundamentally an emotional state or process. Thus, it's theoretically possible to write erotica that contains no overt sex at all. (More on this below.)

Conversely, a story that includes graphic sex does not deserve to be called erotica unless the author is primarily concerned with the characters' feelings about their encounters, and how those feelings affect the non-sexual aspects of the characters' lives. To the extent that sex is treated as a mindless, instinctual activity, a response to a stimulus that brings relief like a sneeze, it does not (in my view) merit the term erotic.

I've been a member of the Erotica Readers & Writers Association for more than a decade. ERWA has a list called Storytime, where members share their erotic fiction (and poetry) and ask for critiques. I don't participate in Storytime now – I just don't have the time – but the three or four years that I did had a powerful influence on my own writing.

In any case, I still recall one story that was posted on Storytime – at least ten years ago. I don't remember who wrote it, though I recall that it was a man. The main – indeed, the only – character is a soldier, staying in a cheap rented room somewhere, maybe Paris. A woman lives in the next room; the walls are thin. Night after night he listens to the sounds she makes coupling with her lover. He finds himself terribly aroused by this unseen female. He masturbates to her cries. He fantasizes about meeting her, about taking her lover's place. His obsession grows, his desire is unbearable, yet he still can't find the courage to knock on her door. Finally, one day, she's gone – the room next door is empty.

I found this story to be one of the most erotic pieces I've ever read. There was no sex involved, or at least none that involved the object of desire. Yet the tale managed to convey such a sense of yearning, a desperate, intense need – manufactured entirely out of the soldier's imagination.

That story (I really wish I still had a copy) has become my touchstone for erotica. I enjoy writing about sex, but like the soldier, it's the idea of sex that really turns me on. I've experimented, trying to write (and sell) erotica that keeps the physical side of sex to an absolute minimum. One story that falls into that category is “Stroke”, which originally appeared in Please Sir: Erotic Storiesof Female Submission, edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel. The male protagonist is a Dom who's bedridden in a rehab facility, partially paralyzed by a stroke. The heroine is his nurse, who suffers from kinky fantasies her boyfriend labels as sick and shameful. The dominant manages to fulfill Cassie's fantasies, without ever touching her.


"Look at me." His tone was softer but no less firm. I raised my eyes to his, which were the startling blue of glacial ice. I shivered and burned. "You're new, aren't you?"


"Yes, Sir," he corrected me. My nipples tightened inside my bra.

"Yes, Sir." Just his voice was enough to make me ache.

"What's your name?"

"Cassie, Sir. Cassie Leonard."

"Don't look away, Cassie. Look at me. Do you know who I am?"

"No, Sir. I just started at Lindenwood this week. Before that I was in the rehab department at Miriam Hospital."

"My slaves call me Master Jonathan."

My earlobes, my nipples, my fingertips, all seemed to catch fire. I wanted to sink through the floor. I didn't want him to see how his words excited me.

But he did see. I stared at my hands, knuckles white from gripping the rail.

"You have a boyfriend, don't you?"

"Yes, Sir, I do." An image of Ryan rose in my mind, his brown curls and uneven grin, muscled chest and hard thighs. I did love him, truly I did, with his quirky humor, his gentle fingers and his boyish ardor. He was a fine young man. My mother approved of him.

"He doesn't satisfy you." It was a statement, not a question. Tears of remembered frustration pricked the corners of my eyes. "Why not, Cassie? Is his cock too small?"

I couldn't believe I was having this conversation with a stranger, a patient, a half-paralyzed man forty years older than I was. I stole a glance at Dr. Carver. His mouth was firm but his eyes sparkled with suppressed mirth.

"No, Sir. His cock is fine." Ryan was justifiably proud of his meaty hard-ons.

"What is it then? Is he a selfish lover? Does he come too quickly for you?"

Guilt washed over me. Ryan would happily spend hours licking my pussy and fingering me, trying to get me off. The only way I could manage it was to think about scenes from the kinky porn I hid from him. Whippings and spankings, gags and handcuffs, all the clichés that I couldn't stop myself from wanting.

"Well? Tell me, Cassie. What do you need that he doesn't provide? What do you want?"

My mouth filled with cotton. I couldn't speak. I was acutely aware of my rigid nipples pressing against the starched fabric of my uniform. My clit pulsed like a sore tooth inside my sodden panties.

"Cassie, I'm waiting." His sternness sent electricity shimmering through my limbs. "Don't disappoint me."

I dared a glance at his face. His left eyelid drooped slightly. His eyes snared mine. I couldn't look away. One eyebrow arched in an unspoken question.

"I—um—I want him to, uh, to do things to me. That he doesn't want to do.” I tried to break away from his gaze, but the force of his will held me.

Things?” He sounded amused. A fresh wave of hot, wet shame swamped my body. “What sort of things?”

Uh—tie me up. Spank me. Use me. Treat me like his slave.” It all came out in a rush, the desires I'd never shared with anyone except Ryan. Even then, I'd only shown him the tip of the iceberg, the least perverted of my needs. “He wouldn't, though. He was shocked when I told him. Disgusted. Said that I had a filthy mind.” The tears that had gathered earlier spilled out over my cheeks.

I imagine that you do, little one, delightfully filthy.” His voice was a caress, soothing and seductive. “I knew that right away, just from your reactions to my voice. Your deepest desire is to submit to a strong master, isn't it?”

Yes—Sir.” I felt relief, now that I'd admitted my secret. He at least didn't seem to condemn me.

You want to be beaten and buggered, shackled to the bed and split open by a huge cock. You want to bath in your master's come, maybe even his piss. To be forced to service his friends.”

It was thrilling and horrible, listening to him enumerating my darkest fantasies out loud. My clit felt the size of a ripe plum, swollen and juicy, ready to burst. I nodded, still finding it difficult to expose myself so completely.

I will do those things for you, if you'd like.”

You?” The suggestion startled me enough that I forgot the honorific, but he seemed to forgive my lapse. I searched his handsome, ravaged face. “How...?”

Don't underestimate me, girl. I may not be the Dom I once was, but I can still make you burn for my touch. I can still make you beg.” He snagged the button on the end of its cord and raised himself to full sitting position. He moved more smoothly and easily than before. “Remove your clothing.” 


No sex at all in this story. Just overwhelming sexual need. Is it erotic? I think so. And I suppose at some level it is about sex – the kind of sex that happens in the mind.

I really do subscribe to the philosophy summarized by my tag line. Imagination is the ultimate aphrodisiac. For me, erotica deals, first and foremost, with the mental and emotional aspects of desire. The physical stuff is optional.

Thursday, August 25, 2016

Defragmenting Daniel: The Organ Scrubber by Jason Werbeloff (#scifi #thrller #giveaway @JasonWerbeloff)


7 stolen organs.
1 vengeful victim.
A gruesome sci-fi thriller.

Organ scrubbing was a bloody job, but somebody had to do it. Daniel, an orphan from the Gutter, was put to work scrubbing kidneys at aged twelve. The job had its perks: a warm bed, Law and Order reruns, and an all-you-can-eat Mopane worm buffet.

Until the Orphanage stole Daniel’s parts, and sold them on the organ market.

Now Daniel has grown up, and yearns to become whole again. The cybernetic organ replacements just aren’t the same – he needs his parts back. But the new owners of his organs won’t give them up. Not without a fight.

Just how far will Daniel go to regain his missing pieces? And how much more of himself will he lose along the way?

Defragmenting Daniel is a cyberpunk crime thriller that will unnerve you. Every part of you.

A work of great imagination. Powerful and gripping.”
A stark and moving experience.”, 5 Star Review


The sun beat down on the crown of Daniel’s mop of thick, black hair. The hanging smoke in the air thickened. His left eye cried. His lungs protested, spasming as he penetrated deeper into the warzone. About a hundred yards into New Settlers Ways, the sweet stink of burning flesh competed with the smoke. Daniel remembered that smell from the operating theatre, when they’d removed his amygdala. But it was stronger here. Omnidirectional. As though the entire area were a seeping wound, and the sun its surgeon.

Daniel tried to count. To find sevens in the chaos. But the buildings weren’t in rows or columns. There was no order here.

We had you cleaned

We had you eat

He rubbed his eye. Tried to bury the memory of the song.

We love your toes

We love your meat

Odin crawled out of the rucksack and perched on Daniel’s shoulder. They surveyed the destruction together. Daniel could hardly feel the cat’s claws burrowing into his clavicle.

No good,” said Daniel, echoing the old shopkeeper.

He walked over to one of the mounds of rubble. Heat radiating from the stones baked his cheeks.

Odin meowed. Dug his claws deeper into Daniel’s chest.

What do you want here?” called out a voice.

Odin darted into the satchel as Daniel whirled around. His cybernetic knee grinded with the sudden turn.

You have no business here,” said a man. He wore a holey t-shirt and a week-long beard. His eyes were swollen. Frantic.

I’m looking for Porcu–”

We don’t need your help,” hissed the Holey Man.

I’m not here to help. I’m looking for Porcuperry Road.”

You PeoPle …” The man spat his P’s “… from up north think you better than us. What with your implanted parts and such.” He nosed the air in the general direction of Daniel’s cybernetic knee.

Sir, I mean no disrespect, but I don’t like my knee. I’d rather have my original.”

The filthy man’s eyes snapped back to Daniel’s face. “What’s that you say?”

The Orphanage took my parts to pay my debt. I never wanted the replacements they gave me.” Daniel flexed his leg. The joint wheezed as he lowered it slowly to the earth.

Hmmm.” The Holey Man stroked his grizzled chin. He had a gash along the bottom of his arm. Were those maggots wiggling along the edges? The man needed a good scrub of Rejek.

What was it you’re looking for?” asked the Holey Man.

84 Porcuperry Road.”

Porcuperry was … fi-si-seven blocks down.”

Daniel’s heart quickened. He eyed the broken streets. Doubted he’d be able to make out city blocks in this mess.

The man sighed. “I’ll take you.” He turned on his feet and walked off, not waiting to see if Daniel followed.

About the Author

Human. Male. From an obscure planet in the Milky Way Galaxy. Sci-fi novelist with a PhD in philosophy. Likes chocolates, Labradors, and zombies (not necessarily in that order). Werbeloff spends his days constructing thought experiments, while trying to muster enough guilt to go to the gym.

He's written two novels, Hedon and The Solace Pill, and the short story anthology, Obsidian Worlds. His books will make your brain hurt. And you'll come back for more.

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Purchase link for Defragmenting Daniel: The Organ Scrubber - The book will be free on Amazon for 4 days, August 24 – 27 2016.

The Organ Scrubber is the first fragment of the Defragmenting Daniel trilogy:

Fragment 1 – The Organ Scrubber
Fragment 2 – The Face in a Jar
Fragment 3 – The Boy Without a Heart

Jason is giving away a $15 bookstore gift certificate as part of his tour. And don't forget to download your free copy of the book!

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