A Truly Epic Interview

Have you ever wondered what your favorite authors would discuss if you put them in a room together? I used to.But now, since I'm living the writing/editing life myself, I imagine that their topics of conversation would be pretty much the same as mine with my local writerly friends... Just like any other professionals who work in a common field, our conversations tend to veer toward work.

Sure, we have friends and families, good times and bad, problems and advice we all discuss, but the common bond that brings us together is literature. The writing of it, the reading of it, the breakdown, structure, grammar, passion, heartache, and joy of allowing it to consume us...

But if you want a more in-depth look at a discussion between two writers, you should take a look at this five-part epic interview. My dear friends Tony Healey and Bernard Schaffer sat down for a Q&A recently. Granted, it's more a one-sided interview than it is a friendly conversation, but Tony is a master interviewer, and Bernard is an excellent interview-ee.

It's well worth sitting down with a warm beverage and your electronic device of choice to get some insight into the mind of a writer. Huh. Maybe with enough views on the sight, we can convince the boys to start a regular vlog or hangout. Then everyone could pick their brains.

Until then, check out the interview and then stop by Amazon to check out their latest collaboration.

Happy Reading!

A Blast from the Past, Dreams of the Future

Three years ago this week, Bernard Schaffer and I came together to begin the Kindle All Stars. Hand in hand, we produced an anthology (Resistance Front) with the intent of paving the way for new, independent authors to find a place to showcase their work. Some have continued to write and enjoy much success; others have chosen to take different paths.

Many of us who continue to work in publishing, be it as writers, editors, or small scale publishers, also continue to keep in touch via social media. One of those writers, possibly the most impressive, is Natasha Whearity.

When I read Natasha's submission to the Resistance Front* project, I demanded that Bernard find a way to use her short story. She was a seventeen-year-old high school student from the UK whose talent, in my opinion, surpassed every other writer whose work I'd seen. There were other brilliant, creative minds who also became part of the group and have thrived, but Natasha stood out as the youngest.

So how could I not invite her to talk to you about Amazon and its affect on her as a young writer as well as her own anthology compiled for charity? This is how the Kindle All-Stars pay it forward.

We Are Such Stuff . . . is available on Amazon

You hear a lot of negative things about independent publishing platforms such as Amazon. A lot of people believe that it is ruining the publishing industry because anyone can publish anything they want to. But for me, Kindle Direct Publishing is a fantastic platform for writers, especially emerging ones, such as myself. What is great about Amazon’s Kindle Direct Publishing is that it gives aspiring writers and editors the opportunity to say that they have been published.

I’m not saying that publishing houses aren’t fantastic at what they do, because they are brilliant. But there is nothing wrong with Amazon allowing writers the freedom to publish their own work themselves – which is something they might not be able to do through a publishing house if their work is tossed onto a pile of no’s.

If it weren't for Amazon, I would never have had my first short story, "Endgame" published in the Kindle All Stars anthology: Resistance Front, which raised money for a charity supporting missing and exploited children. If it weren't for Amazon and that opportunity, I would never have been able to publish We Are Such Stuff As Dreams Are Made On, which is the anthology of work I have just published.

Through publishing We Are Such Stuff, I have had the opportunity of not only raising money for a charity extremely close to my heart (all the proceeds made from the anthology are going to the charity Epilepsy Action UK) but I have been able to use Amazon Kindle Direct Publishing as a platform for my writing, editing, formatting and publishing skills.

If it weren't for Amazon and the opportunity I was given by Bernard, Laurie, and the Kindle All-Stars, I would never have been able to publish work, not only by myself, but by some really fantastic and innovative writers. I have learned so much from publishing this anthology, not just about how important it is to support emerging writers, but how much I love creating and making books. I hope that this project is the first of many.

You can buy a copy of We Are Such Stuff As Dreams Are Made On for only £1.53 (or $2.57) and all of the proceeds go to Epilepsy Action. Not only will you support an amazing charity, but the work of some brilliant and blossoming writers.

*Resistance Front and its successor, Carnival of Cryptids, are both still available on Amazon. All proceeds benefit the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children.

Happy Reading!

The Writers Go Marching Two by Two

I have just finished editing a book that I hope to be a huge seller. I mean, I always hope they do well, but this one in particular hooked me. It wasn't so much the story, which is terrific, unpredictable, and sometimes a bit depressing; it was more the writing team with whom I worked. You see, Nathan and Derek Howe are two of the most endearing writers I've met.

They have gained my utmost respect for a few reasons. I won't go into the hows and the whys now; I'll save that for a future post. Just know that they, and their new novel, Aiden, have wheedled their way into my heart. And I've invited Nathan to join us today to tell us about his experience writing with his brother. He'll tell you . . . after you check out this cool cover:

Buy Aiden for Kindle on Amazon.com

Writing is generally a solitary art, and for me this is mostly true. I sit at home with headphones on, listening to music, blocking the world out. However, I don’t write alone; I co-write with my brother Derek. We’ve both tried to write stories on our own but never made it past a few chapters (in my brother's case, never made it past the first page). We both love to read and always wanted to write a book, but neither of us actually thought we'd finish one. 

About a year and a half ago, my brother came up with an idea that I really liked. He comes up with ideas for books all the time, some good, some bad, and some just weird. The idea he came up with stuck with me this time. As soon as he said it, I could see a story form in my head. I knew what I wanted to do with it. So as soon as I could, I wrote the first chapter. I sent it to him to see if he liked it. He made some edits, added some lines, and sent it back to me. Later we talked about the book and where I was planning to go with it. It wasn’t long before we were both knee deep in the book writing. 

A lot of people seem to have trouble writing with others; one seems to do all the work or they just fight over how they want the story to go. We’ve never had that problem, well maybe a little fight here and there, but nothing too serious. 

The reason co-writing works so well with us is we can play off of each other’s strengths and weaknesses. Derek is good at coming up with ideas and outlining. I’m good taking those ideas and outlines and putting them to paper. Because I know Derek is going to go over what I write and add what he thinks needs to be added, I gained a freedom I didn’t have before. I don’t have to worry about missing parts, or forgetting certain details, because I know Derek will find them and make it work. And if he can’t, well, we can talk about it and figure it out together. 

Before, if I got stuck on something, I would give up. With my brother, I know he is there to help me. We both push each other to become better writers. In the past year we have improved a lot and plan to continue the process. That is one of the best parts: we can challenge each other to become better. 

I could talk on and on about why co-writing works so well for us, but I won’t. I will give you the most important reason: we have fun. It is that simple. We love to see what the other one has added to the story and see what the other can do. If we didn’t have fun, we would have never finished Aiden. 

I've talked a lot about what works for us. All the advantages we gain from working together. But not all is perfect. I mentioned it can lead to some disagreements about where, or how, parts of the story should go. But that has been rare for us. Another problem we run into is that I write a lot. At such a pace that my brother can't always keep up. At times that can be frustrating for me, and for him as well. But it can be a good thing for us, too. It allows Derek to pick my best work, my best stories, to work on. 

I would like to thank Laurie for her great work on Aiden, and letting me guest blog. She put a lot into Aiden, making it a book that we are proud of, and I hope that you, the reader, will enjoy.

Happy Reading!

The Bloody North

Well, we've done it again. Tony Healey wrote it; I edited it, and now it's available for your reading pleasure. The first title in Tony's The Fallen Crown series, The Bloody North, is now live on Amazon. It's also only 99 cents for the e-book right now, so grab it! Anyhow, Tony has a bit more to say on the subject, so I'll let him do the rest:

ON WRITING 'THE BLOODY NORTH'

My first exposure to fantasy was The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe by C. S. Lewis. I saw the old BBC adaptation of it (which I still think stands head and shoulders above both the animated movie and the more recent Disney motion picture) and then found a copy of it in paperback at a car boot sale. I was about nine at the time. I spent months afterward trying to track down copies of all the others. I succeeded, never paying more than about fifty pence for each one. Eventually I had all seven Narnia books lined up on my shelf, each one from a different edition.

A year or so later, I found a box set containing all seven, with cover art to match their respective BBC adaptations. I used that as my excuse for reading them all again from scratch. I still have that same box set now.

In my teens, my uncle loaned me a copy of Spellsinger by Alan Dean Foster, and I proceeded to bug him for the other five, tearing through them at a rate of knots. A few years back, I had the honour of having a short story of mine published alongside Mr. Foster. In that anthology (see: Resistance Front by Bernard Schaffer, Alan Dean Foster, Harlan Ellison, et al.) I dedicated my story to Alan, thanking him for Spellsinger.

If the work of C. S. Lewis had introduced me to fantasy as a genre (at the age I was when I read it, I honestly didn't pick up on all of the religious notes – it was just a good story), then Spellsinger showed me you could take traditional fantasy and inject it with facets of modern life.

From a very early age, we'd had three films on VHS I'd constantly watch, over and over again. The first was The Goonies – recorded off of the TV with commercials included. The other two were Watership Down and The Lord of the Rings.

After reading Spellsinger, my mind turned to those two cartoons I'd watched as a small child. So I read my way through Watership Down, and then tackled The Lord of the Rings at about the same time as The Fellowship of the Ring came out at the cinema. With Watership Down, I got to see world building on par with Narnia, but done in an entirely different way. Set in the world of rabbits, with their own language, their own beliefs, their own mythology. I found it completely fascinating.

The Lord of the Rings was a slog most of the time, but I have happy memories of the experience. It was a long work to tackle in my teens, but I managed it, just about. A recent attempt at a reread failed miserably. I simply lost interest. A lot of that comes from the books I am used to reading now as an adult. They're faster, more concise. To my mind, Tolkien's opus is a must-read for anyone. But I don't think many will delve back in for a second go. It's a huge undertaking. The Lord of the Rings is a classic work of fantasy that truly established a gold standard for the genre at the time. And there have been many attempts by other writers at recreating Middle-Earth in their own work, to varying degrees of success.

Coming out of my teens, The Dark Tower series and J. K. Rowling's Harry Potter were hugely influential to me. What Stephen King accomplishes with The Dark Tower is something he has tried often and succeeded at rarely. That is, telling a long story and holding the reader's attention from start to finish. Some – novels like The Stand and IT – have worked brilliantly. Others . . . ugh. But for whatever reason, The Dark Tower grips you from the first tantalizing sentence ("The man in black fled across the desert, and the gunslinger followed . . .") and never lets go. It's a little crazy, it's a bit of a mash-up of multiple genres and sources, but that's okay. You take it in your stride. The Dark Tower is King's greatest work. A rich, hugely entertaining epic.

The very same can be said for Rowling's Potter series. I read them one after the other (luckily the last, The Deathly Hallows, was just coming out as I finished The Half-Blood Prince). My habit with those was to sit on the kitchen floor at night, cup of tea by my side and read into the early hours. I lived in a house with six other siblings at the time, so really the kitchen at night was about the most peaceful place for reading.

She did a fantastic job of world-building, of plotting each book out so that it was its own self-contained story, yet progressed the overall plot piece by piece. Readers were literally spellbound (forgive the pun) by the interactions between the characters and the relationships that developed along the way. By the progression of a plot that grew steadily darker and darker – and by what had happened in the past, before the books take place. Certainly the greatest, well-rounded character of the series is not Harry Potter himself, but Severus Snape. Dumbledore's machinations become somewhat omnipresent by the end, whereas Snape comes into his own in what is a truly heartbreaking series of revelations.

Recently, I found myself browsing the kindle store for something new to read when I came across The Blade Itself by Joe Abercrombie. I got the sample, devoured it in one sitting, and bought the rest of the book.

The next day, I found myself in town buying the whole trilogy in paperback and proceeded to read them one after the other. Abercrombie takes the conventions of the genre and turns them on their head. First of all, he does away with the stilted writing of the past and brings his contemporary voice to Fantasy – complete with swearing, sex, and some of the most complicated characters I've ever come across. Each and every one of them broken in some way.

Glokta, broken in body but not in spirit. Logen Ninefingers, broken inside as he tries (in vain) to turn away from the man he used to be. These two characters begin the story broken and end up whole by the end (though not necessarily better people as a result) whilst the character of Luthar begins whole and is steadily broken first in body, then in spirit. Abercrombie writes a kind of fantasy that critics and readers alike have come to coin "Grimdark." I guess it had its beginnings in the work of Robert E. Howard way back when, and I reckon there were the seeds of it in the dark deeds that went (mostly) unseen, in the background, throughout The Lord of The Rings. If Aragorn and company spent the majority of those books fighting nameless, faceless hordes of Orcs with little repercussions for their deeds, Abercrombie makes every kill resonate.

Men fight men, with all the horrific slaughter and detail involved. And when the fight is over, when most of them have died, the survivors are left with their guilt and their shame and their hurt. Left to deal with it all on their own.

It's no wonder, in Abercrombie's fictional setting, that Logen turned out the way he did.

But what some reviewers of The Blade Itself have criticized it, and its sequels, for is its lack of hope, and I have to disagree there. I found plenty of hope in The First Law trilogy. It's there, trust me. What Abercrombie does is to counter-balance these moments, these flashes of characters achieving the positive, with the darkness. If a character is winning in one chapter, the next time we meet them, their luck has taken a turn for the worst.

Is that fair? Probably not. But is it realistic to what we experience in real life?

Yeah.

I took a similar approach in The Bloody North, by having a character consumed with grief to the point where he'd almost stopped living. He just existed – until, that is, his company is slaughtered in front of him and he's left on his own. What ensues is a bloody path of vengeance as Rowan comes to terms with all that he's lost and his quest to destroy the man who took it all away from him. Along the way we get to know some of the world in which The Fallen Crown series takes place.

This just the first small chapter in a truly epic story. If you think The Bloody North sets the stage, well . . . wait till you read Book 2. Boy, oh boy, is it going to blow your socks off.

Next level doesn't cut it.

Thank you, Tony.

Happy Reading!

A Day Late, But Well Rested

My apologies, folks, for yesterday's SNAFU. I woke up early, got a little work done, then closed my eyes, "just for an hour or so." I slept, quite soundly, for the next twelve hours. Then I got up, microwaved dinner, watched a bit of TV, and went to bed.

Such is life with chronic fatigue and a drive to get things done. I have a tendency to push myself past my limits and then pay for it when my body finally says, "no more." Welp, I pushed myself on Saturday and figured I could just drop the blog post into place a few hours late on Sunday, and all would be well. Wrong.

Anyhow, I guarantee it was worth the wait because the official launch of my pal M. L. Adams's first novel Cyber Dawn is tomorrow, but you get a double sneak peek. You see, as Mike's editor, I get access to the finished manuscript which means I get to post the first few pages here for you to sample. AND I happen to know the full book, both Kindle and paperback are already loaded to Amazon just in case you want to read the rest.

While Cyber Dawn is an excellent stand-alone novel, it may very well end up as first in a series. So read this, then we'll tell you a bit more about the author.

**********

Prologue

The eleven-year-old boy stared wide-eyed at the sleek silver and black cybernetic leg. He'd seen mock-ups of course. Even tried on a few as they worked to get the sizing just right. 

This is the real thing, he thought. That's my new leg.

His heart raced at the thought of being whole again.

He tore his eyes away and looked around the surgical room. The stainless steel furniture, bright lights, and adults wearing hospital scrubs, all reminded him of his last surgery. It even smelled the same – like when his house was freshly cleaned. But to the boy, it felt different. The last time he'd been in a room just like it, they had taken his leg to keep a cancerous tumor from spreading. Something the oncologist called a synovial sarcoma. Now, they were giving him a leg back. 

An even better one.

He gazed down at the end of the bed and stared at the single hump his left foot formed under the sheets. When he'd woken up from his last surgery, groggy and disoriented from the anesthesia, his eyes tried to focus on his missing foot. His brain told him it was there. He could still feel it as part of his body. But his eyes saw something different. Where there should be two humps, there was only one.

Later, the doctors told him the sensation he felt – of his leg being there when it wasn't – was called phantom pain. For the life of him, he couldn't figure out the phantom part. The pain sure felt real enough.

He pushed the memory to the back of his mind and stared at the ceiling. He wouldn't look down again until after the surgery. Not until there were two humps.

"Okay, it's time," said a nurse from somewhere off to his right. "You're already an old pro at this. Should be a piece of cake."

She pulled a piece of surgical tubing tight around his arm. She then tapped the skin with the back of her fingers and inserted the needle. The prick used to hurt, but now it barely registered.

"You'll feel a warm sensation flow into your arm and then throughout your body," she said. "When I tell you, start counting back from one hundred."

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

A few moments later, he felt the warm liquid flow into his veins. At the nurse's prompt, he began to count backwards.

"100 ... 99 ... 98 ... 97 ... 96 ... "

1

Six years later

The CyberLife Industries Non-Disclosure Agreement I signed contains a long list of forbidden activities. Near the top, just under you will NOT attempt to access or otherwise modify your cybernetic system, are the words: you will NOT participate in contact sports. Of course, the second my parents hopped on a plane to Europe for two months, I forged the permission slip to try out for my high school football team. 

For exactly forty days, it was the best decision of my life. I made the team, started three games at wide receiver, and met a ton of new friends. I even scored a date with the head of the cheerleading squad. For the first time in six years, life was normal. Instead of a lab rat, I felt like an actual teenager.

That was all before the helmet-on-helmet hit.

The medic at the game on Friday night diagnosed me with a concussion. But I knew better. I knew right away what it was. The hit screwed up my neural cybernetic augment. 

* * *

By early Monday morning, the headache was so bad I called Megan, my cybernetic systems technician. Not surprisingly, she totally freaked out. After a half-dozen or so expletives, she demanded I meet her right away. 

For almost three hours, I'd been lying on a cold, stainless steel surgical table in a secret underground laboratory at the CyberLife headquarters. Normally I didn't mind our early morning appointments. Three hours was a lot of time for a nap or, in extreme cases, to cram for an exam or finish a homework assignment. With a midterm starting in less than an hour, I actually needed to study. My headache wouldn't allow it.

I looked over at Megan. She sat at the lab's lone workstation, hunched over a laptop. Her fingers moved rapidly, filling the otherwise quiet space with the sound of clattering keys. A light blue CyberLife lab coat covered her slender body. Her long, blond hair was pulled up in a ponytail and her blue eyes sparkled from the light of the laptop screen. Despite the boredom, and the pain, I smiled to myself. Even mad, she sure is easy to look at, I thought.

Megan tried to hide it, but I knew she was watching me in her peripheral vision. I could feel the anger flowing from her eyes. Anger because I disobeyed her direct orders. Anger because I woke her up at three in the morning. But most of all, anger because I let her down. 

"Megan, how much longer?" I asked.

Without answering, she stood and walked in my direction. She stopped at the bank of diagnostic monitors sitting on a wheeled cart near my table. The monitors, connected wirelessly to my various cybernetic components, displayed the status of my heart rate, blood pressure, and other vital systems – human and cybernetic. Placing both hands on the cart's handle, she began to push it back toward her workstation.

"Almost done?" I asked.

With a heavy sigh, Megan stopped the cart and turned to face me. "Benjamin, you do realize I'm in the process of repairing your brain?"

I swallowed hard. 

"Keep distracting me," she said as she pointed at one of the monitors. "And I might accidentally make this little zero here a one. The next thing you know, Ben's taking first-grade math again."

"And that's a downgrade?" I laughed. "You know I suck at math."

Megan opened her mouth to respond, but instead shook her head and stormed back to her workstation.

"I'm sorry," I muttered.

Idiot.

I spent the next ten minutes looking around the small laboratory in an attempt to focus on something – anything really – other than the pain in my head. Up until earlier that day, I thought I had been in every lab at CyberLife. Both at the headquarters in Brookwood, Colorado, where I'd spent all morning, and the secret research campus in the mountains west of town, where I spent most of my teenage years. However, this one was new and, in my opinion, barely qualified as a lab. It was dimly lit, had no heat, and was four stories under ground. The only furniture was Megan's workstation and my cold, stainless steel, surgical table. The room seemed more like a medieval dungeon than a place where she should be performing high-tech surgery on my brain.

"Why are we down here?" I asked, determined to strike up a conversation. "Is this even a lab?"

Megan walked over and set her laptop down on the table next to me. "If you must know," she said. "We're down here because my idiot teenage patient decided to play football, got himself smacked in the head, and just about scrambled the cybernetic augment attached to his brain."

I sat still, suddenly wishing I'd kept my mouth shut.

"And, so Dr. Merrick doesn't find out," she continued. "I decided we should meet down here this morning instead of in my office, which is two doors down from his."

Megan folded her arms across her chest and arched an eyebrow. "Make sense?"

I nodded slowly. "Yeah, makes sense."

"Good." She turned back to her laptop. "Now shut up so I can finish."

"Any idea how much longer?"

Megan sighed and shook her head. "You're impossible Benjamin."

"I have a math mid-term at eight."

She glanced at her watch and resumed the rapid fire typing. "Lucky for you, I've figured out the problem. Just need to upload a new software build."

I groaned. New software meant new bugs. The last thing I needed was a system malfunction during mid-term exam week. Then again, being virtually stabbed in the foot every minute during an exam would do little to help either. Instead of arguing, I lay back down on the table. Wearing only my boxers and socks, the cold metal surface sent a shiver up my spine. 

"You look cold," she said. "Want to borrow my coat? I just need to tweak a few more things before we get started with the upload."

"You read my mind," I said. "It's freezing in here."

Megan slipped off her lab coat and placed it over my legs. She wore a tight, light blue sweater and khaki pants. The outfit provided enough of a distraction that I didn't notice her hands slide under the coat. She wrapped her ice cold fingers around my bare leg.

"Megan!"

I shot forward and tried to push, pull, and claw her hands off me. It was no use. I had learned long ago that the cute, blue-eyed blonde was freakishly strong.

"Your hands are freezing!"

Her grip tightened. "Oh, they are? I had no idea."

I tried to punch her shoulder, but she dodged out of the way, and I almost fell off the table.

"Not funny Megan!"

"Oh, don't be such a big baby." She let go and tucked her lab coat tight around my legs. "There, is that better?"

"Gee, thanks," I grumbled. "You cheated and tweaked the temperature sensors in my leg, didn't you?"

"Maybe." Her grin widened.

I shook my head and cursed the CyberLife engineers who had made my leg so damn realistic. Not only was it nearly impossible to detect visually, its lifelike synthetic skin could sense touch as well as a range of temperatures and relay the associated sensation to my brain. 

"How's your head?"

"Still hurts."

"You sure?"

Several moments later, I let out a deep sigh of relief. The headache was gone. Cute, strong, and ridiculously good at her job, I thought. "Thanks Megan. You're the best."

"No problem," she answered. "And while I question that your brain is still intact and functioning correctly, my tests revealed no major damage."

"So what happened?"

With a shrug, she said, "I think the impact occurred just as your augment was feeding stored Cytoxinol into your system. The process was interrupted, and a software bug kept it from starting again. The lack of Cytoxinol caused your headache. To be honest, I'm surprised it didn't result in more problems. You were lucky."

I whistled softly. Cytoxinol was a CyberLife-manufactured drug I took daily. I didn't know the details, only that it somehow kept my body and my cybernetic system in balance.

"What if I didn't call you to get it fixed?" I asked.

"You'd have been dead in two days."

My mouth fell open as I waited for the punch line. When one didn't come, I said, "Dead?"

"I'm serious Ben," Megan replied. "You're taking Cytoxinol for a reason. Without it, your cybernetic augments would poison you." 

I let out a deep breath. Joining the football team now seemed like a pretty dumb idea.

Megan squeezed my arm. "Now you know why I was so angry?"

"Was angry?"

"Am angry. Don't push your luck." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a black data cable. "Since you're in a hurry, I'll use the wire. It transfers data a hundred times faster." 

Before I could protest, she bent down and slipped her hands up my boxer shorts. I tensed, both because I expected her hands to be cold and because she had her fingers wrapped around my upper thigh.

"Easy there Benjamin," she said.

"Geez Megan, a little notice next time?"

"Oh, like you're not used to it," she joked. "I've been putting my hands in your pants for three years."

My face flushed red. "Megan, seriously?"

She laughed, tucked her fingers under the synthetic skin, and rolled it down past my knee. My cybernetic leg's rigid, titanium alloy shell and flexible Kevlar fabric muscles made it look like something out of a science fiction movie. Even now, six years later, I had to look twice to convince my brain it really was my leg.

After plugging in the cable and entering a series of commands on her laptop, Megan sat on the corner of the table and crossed her arms. 

"Okay Benjamin, you've got ten minutes," she said, a serious look on her face. "Start talking."

"Talk?" I replied tentatively.

She scowled and leaned in close. In a voice barely above a whisper, she said, "Tell me why, of all the things you could possibly do, you decided to join the football team? Not the golf team. Not the debate team or the chess team. The full-contact football team." 

At that moment, I realized the true downside to the sparse, underground lab.

Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide.

**********

About M.L. Adams

M.L. Adams was born in the Midwest and raised in Colorado. His parents, both avid readers, instilled a love for books at an early age. His 3rd and 4th grade teacher, Mrs. Watson, encouraged a passion for writing. Cyber Dawn includes many of his experiences as a childhood cancer survivor and amputee. He still lives in Colorado with his wife and two children.

Feel free to contact him at: author.mladams@gmail.com

For news and more information: www.mladams.com

Close to You by Toni Lee

Seriously, I never expected this whole summer reading series to become a thing. It was supposed to be one post and that was that. But it's gotten enough hits that I'm guessing you all actually WANT to read these first chapters. So I will continue to oblige this week with a completely new name and voice.

Enter Toni Lee, a new client who lives in Sussex. (That's in England, ya'll.) She's writing her first novel in six installments and releasing it as a serial. So far, I like it, so give her a chance. Besides, the first installment will be free on Amazon Monday and Tuesday, August 26 and 27, 2013. After that, it will be just 99 cents. Eventually, we will publish the entire serial as one book. I promise to keep you posted.

***********

1.

cover by Keri Knutson
of Alchemy Book Covers

Things had been better. Scarlet picked through the clothes on the floor to find something that wasn't either screwed up, wrinkled as a dishrag, or in need of a wash.

It was true she'd not caught up with her laundry lately (or her ironing for that matter) but she'd not had the spare change to feed the machines at the LAUNDROMAT down the street. When it came down to eating or doing the laundry, having a nice fresh top to wear out for the night was the least of her priorities.

But tonight was different.

She needed it. Scarlet had rinsed the last dregs from her bank account, collecting together what she needed for one final night out. A blow out. It'd be head down, back to finding a job after that. No more wild nights.

It's what she swore to herself every time, without fail.

Knuckle down, save the pennies, get herself back out of the red. The negative balance on her overdraft was like red quicksand. Once you got stuck in there, it was nigh impossible to pull yourself back out.

But at least she'd have tonight, and she'd forget all her problems and worries for a couple of hours. At least that was the plan, and it was one she intended to stick to.

"Ah! There you are!" she said happily as she found a white dress, with the tag still on, that was bundled inside a market bag. Something she'd got from a second hand shop and chucked under the bed. It'd never been worn, and she'd managed to get it at an absolute bargain price. Scarlet got up, held the dress out in front of her in admiration. "Finally, something goes my way."

Scarlet checked the clock, then got in the shower with the bathroom door wide open. She had the stereo going full pelt in the living room, blasting tunes by the Black Eyed Peas, heavy with base. She lathered her body with soap, shaved her legs and washed her hair. She felt renewed, refreshed, and reinvigorated.

"The three r's," she said to herself as she switched the shower back off and stepped out onto a towel. Scarlet wrapped another towel around herself and sang along to the music pouring out of the stereo as she got ready.

The apartment was only a one bedroom but she still seemed to struggle in keeping it clean and tidy. Maybe it just wasn't in her nature to be domesticated like that. Some women were just born to be mothers. They were literally mothering, stay-at-home material.

Scarlet knew she was far from the obedient housewife type, and was under no illusions that that would ever be the case, either. She lived for the night too much. For going out, drinking and dancing. Occasionally picking up a man and letting herself go, along with her clothes and underwear.

That was what she liked. Sometimes there was nothing better than pulling some random in a bar or club and enjoying a good fuck. No entanglements, no expectations of anything other than what was on offer.

Sex.

Scarlet sat on the edge of her bed, reapplying the nail polish to her toes.

Three months ago she'd lost her cosy job as a receptionist at a dentist's and she'd struggled to find something -- anything -- to replace it. Now the last of her savings had fizzled away like flat lemonade and a kind of creeping panic had set in.

How will I eat? How will I pay the electric bill? How will I afford to go out?

Maybe tonight's a bad idea, she allowed herself to consider for a moment before pushing the thought aside.

No, I need this more than I care to admit.

Scarlet used her blow drier to dry her toenails then went to work on her hair, in front of the tall mirror that stood on the floor by the foot of the bed, leant back against the wall. No time to find a hammer and nail to hang it with. She brushed her locks through then straightened them, pleased as ever with her ability to make her hair look fabulous with a little work. Her silky chestnut bangs fell past her shoulders. She'd never been tempted to cut them.

Scarlet checked the clock again. Already the light was fading out in the street.

Better get my arse in gear, she told herself as she slipped into her panties. She always had clean underwear. You didn't need a laundrette for cleaning those. That's what sinks were for.

I'm a mess, she thought to herself as she surveyed the state of her apartment. The clutter and mess everywhere. It wasn't filthy in there, nothing like that. But it was an obsessive-compulsive's worst nightmare.

Scarlet looked at herself in the mirror. Slim physique, not one pound heavier than she had been at eighteen . . . and that was ten years ago. Her breasts were always her best asset. Not too big, not too small. Just slightly larger than a man's hand. She'd always been pretty and aging hadn't yet diminished her looks at all. She'd been lucky, really. When she ran across old school friends in the street, she was always amazed at how aged and weathered they looked.

No I'm not a mess, she corrected herself. The apartment is. Me? I'm one hot piece of arse.

That made her laugh out loud. She grabbed the white dress and pulled the tag free from the label at the back. Usually she'd be going out with her friends, or at the very least, meeting them somewhere. But not tonight. This one was a solo mission, no wing-mate. Not even her best friend James.

"Just you and me tonight, baby," she said to the dress. "And we're gonna do some damage."

**********

Now we really are done. Next week, I promise, you will have a special surprise in the form of a new, free, crochet pattern I've designed specifically for the Blog Collection. It will be free here for the life of the blog, but it will also appear in my next crochet book.

Happy Summer Reading!

Safe With Me by Shaina Richmond

This book still stands, a year later, as the longest I've ever edited. It's also still a favorite. You see, before I was Shaina's editor, I was a fan. So it only stands to reason that if I'm going to post the first chapters of my favorite summer reads, Safe With Me should be included.

The story of Tyler and Susie hits home in many ways, and I believe the reason it has become so popular is that everyone who reads it can find a character with whom they can identify.

Yes, it's quite erotic and definitely not suitable for anyone under the age of eighteen, but it's also a compelling drama that is terrific for an extended vacation.

***********

Tyler

Find a free extended sample here

Tuesday, October 5, 2010

I watched her walk into the coffee shop. I didn’t know the pretty blonde’s name but I was sure we had a few classes together.

As she walked to the counter a strap of her backpack caught the top of her T-shirt, pulling the material tight against her left breast. It lifted her shirt, showing a little of her soft stomach. She stopped walking and stood still as she yanked the bottom of her T-shirt back down to her waist. Her left hand tugged vigorously at the backpack. I heard her groan as the strap stayed in place, holding her plump breast captive.

I chuckled as I took a sip of my iced tea. After I’d spent the past half hour studying the not-so-exciting world of municipal bond markets, watching my classmate’s struggle provided a welcomed distraction.

My eyes focused on the gorgeous breast twenty feet in front of me. It was covered by a thin, pink cotton T-shirt that did nothing to hide the firmness of her nipple. The white hoodie she wore didn’t look heavy enough to keep her warm in the chilly autumn air.

Should I try to help her? Surely I was strong enough to loosen that stubborn backpack. And, in doing so, I could make a clever comment about how cold it must be outside for her nipple to get so hard. She’d laugh and toss her head back. Her long blond hair would fall off her shoulders onto her back in slow motion. Thankful for my help, she’d lift up her shirt to give me a better look at her tits before I rip her clothes off and throw her down on the dirty hardwood floor.

Shit, I gotta stop watching so much porn. My cock tightened against my zipper. I shifted my weight in my chair, trying to move things around without being obvious.

Finally, her backpack let go of her shirt. She shook her head and walked toward the counter, carrying the backpack on her arm like a purse. 

“You all right?” The barista chuckled. “Havin’ some trouble today?”

She smiled. “Yes, actually. It’s been one heck of a day already.”

He leered at her as she read the menu on the wall.

“I’ll have a large iced latte,” she said.

“You want whipped cream? It doesn’t come with it but I’ll give it to you anyway,” he said.

Does he really think that’s impressive?

“Aw, that’s so sweet of you,” she said.

“No problem.” He gave her a dorky smile. “What’s your name?”

“Susie.”

“I’m Greg. Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, too.” She smiled at Greg, then slung her backpack over her right shoulder and walked away from the counter, stopping a few feet from my table.

I saw her scanning the room, biting her lower lip. I turned around in my chair to assess the seating situation. I hoped she needed to prepare for the next day’s test in Finance 202 so I could invite her to sit with me without looking desperate. I imagined her tits accidentally brushing against me as we huddled together to discuss our questions. Maybe I could reach across her for a pen as her hard nipples casually dig into my arm…

I felt my cock push against my zipper.

“Susie! Iced latte!”

“Thanks, hon.”

She gave Greg a little wave and another smile and picked up her drink. I glanced at the table to my right and saw a guy lean forward in his chair, watching her intently as she stepped away from the counter.

I knew it was time for me to pounce before the other guy could offer her a seat. I waved. “Need a place to sit?”

She turned to me, her head tilted to the side. “Yeah. Do I know you?”

I extended my hand and rose slightly from my chair. “Tyler Campbell.” It took all of my effort not to stare at her chest as I introduced myself.

“Susanna Lombardi.” Her hand felt cold from being outside but her skin was soft. I gently moved my arm up and down to see if her tits would bounce a little as we shook hands. They did. I’m evil.

“Lombardi? You don’t look Italian.” Shit, my flirting skills are rusty.

“Yeah, I get that a lot,” she said. Her voice was low for a woman, with a hint of a Southern accent.

She sat down across from me and put her backpack on the table. While she busied herself pulling out books, I spent a moment studying her.

Her T-shirt fit loosely, showing supple, milky white skin down to the top of ample cleavage. I imagined those huge breasts attached to her soft, plump body, bouncing up and down on top of me.

My eyes went from her breasts to her face as she continued. “I know I’m too light to look Italian. A lot of people think I’m nuts for not trying to be darker. But I don’t wanna look like a leather purse when I’m thirty.”

“There’s nothing wrong with your paleness,” I said. “You shouldn’t try to change the way you are. It’s very nice.” I wanted to pay her another compliment but I was too distracted by my visualization of her soft, naked body and the thought of my tongue gliding across her hard nipple. I couldn’t remember another time when I’d been so flustered by perverted thoughts of a beautiful woman I’d just met.

“That’s sweet of you. But it’s easy for you to say. Tans are favored in this college town.” I could see straight down her shirt when she leaned across the table, casually laying her forearm across mine. “See the difference? You make me look like a ghost.”

After a few seconds she drew her arm back as if nothing had happened. I hope I don’t have to stand up for a while. I hadn’t gotten hard in public since the tenth grade.

I’d never been so attracted to a girl who looked like her before. Skinny brunettes with dark complexions usually caught my eye but I couldn’t remember reacting to any woman like I had the curvy blonde sitting across from me. 

Susie took a long look at my hair. “I love your hair. It’s so healthy it makes me sick. You don’t see many long-haired guys around here.”

My hair was long but not quite halfway down my back. I wore it down that day instead of my usual ponytail.

“I’m Indian,” I said. “Uh, I mean, American Indian, mostly. My mom is half Indian and half something else. We’re not sure what.”

She laughed, to which I responded with nervous chuckling. Damn, I need to be careful before I say something really stupid. I picked up my iced tea and took a drink, trying to get my thoughts in order.

“Well, Tyler, whatever genes your mother gave you, they’ve made you very handsome.” Without pause, and without eye contact, she changed the subject. “So, are you studying for the test in McCray’s class tomorrow?”

I wondered if I should respond to her compliment. I decided not to, considering how quickly she’d moved on. But at least I knew what she thought of my looks.

“Yes. You?” I asked.

“Yes. I should’ve studied more for the last one. I won’t be caught off guard this time. He’s tricky but as long as you work through the examples in the book, his tests are no big deal.” She paused to drink her frozen coffee before continuing. “I did that for the first test and got a 98. I got a 90 last time because I was lazy. Don’t spend too much time on the lecture notes.”

“That’s good to know. I’ve gotten a 92 and an 84 so far. Maybe we could go through the examples together?” I asked.

“Yes! I’d love that.” Her gray-blue eyes widened.

The way she smiled and responded to my unusually dorky conversation made me breathe a little easier. “So,” I asked. “You said your name’s Susanna, but I heard you tell Greg at the counter that your name is Susie. Which do you prefer?”

“I don’t care, really. Susie’s fine. But it sounds like a little girl’s name. Call me whichever one you want. I just ask that you pick one and stick with it. I’m like a trained dog. If I get used to your voice calling me Susie, I won’t know who you’re talking to if you call me Susanna.”

I laughed.

“I’m serious.” She giggled. “I’m such a weirdo. Some people call me both. So, you can call me either one but make sure to use them equally or I’ll get really confused.”

I smiled, knowing I was already developing a serious crush.

We opened our books to discuss the text. In less than an hour I’d moved to the chair on her left. I made it look innocent enough, like I just wanted to be close enough to compare my work with hers, side by side. My arm brushed against her breasts a couple times. I was sure she hadn’t noticed.

Our conversation deviated from the books in front of us quite a bit as the hours flew by. She immediately recognized a line from one of my favorite movies when I quoted it, leading to a long discussion of obscure movies we both liked that most of our friends hated. That led to a discussion of TV, then video games. I’d never met a girl before who liked video games as much as I did. I was usually afraid to tell girls I’d spent a year of my life addicted to an online role-playing game but she admitted to playing the same game. She shook her head and blushed when I tried to get her to admit just how long she played.

Susie was so very different from the boring girls I’d met since I transferred for summer school in May. She was quirky and interesting. Talking with her was easy, like catching up with an old friend. It would’ve been even easier if I could’ve controlled my thoughts of ripping her clothes off.

Greg’s shift ended at eight o’clock. I knew because at approximately one minute after eight, he plunked a frozen latte down in front of her.

“It’s on the house. And it’s decaf. Want you to be able to sleep tonight.” He winked.

Yeah, I bet you do.

“Wow, thank you. I love the customer service here.” She smiled and picked up her free drink. “I’ll be back.”

“Good. I’ll be here.”

And then he left. Damn, I thought. Blond hair and big boobs will get you a lot of free things in life. “Does that kind of thing happen to you a lot?” I asked.

“What?” She asked as she placed the straw in her mouth to drink from Greg’s frozen decaf cup of desperation.

Why did she have to put her lips on that straw while she was looking me in the eye? I almost lost my train of thought. “Oh, please. You know what I’m talking about,” I said.

“No, not a lot. But I like to be nice to people. I believe you reap what you sow. Kindness goes a long way.”

So do blond hair and big boobs! Not to mention her plump lips, skin like a porcelain doll, and a deep, sexy voice that could make serious money in the business of phone sex. Everything about her drove me crazy. I was glad the table covered my lap.

After about nine o’clock we stopped trying to steer the conversation back to the finance test. Instead, we bounced between more important topics such as how much we both hated the color yellow, we both preferred snakes to spiders, and the fact that we each had Facebook accounts we barely used because we hated drama.

She went on to ask about my family and their ties to the reservation. I gave her the whole story about my grandmother leaving to ‘marry a white man,’ as Grandma had recounted to me many times. After hearing my own voice for longer than I felt was necessary, I told her we didn’t have to talk about it anymore but she begged me to go on, her eyes wide as she listened. I forgot what I was talking about more than once as my eyes wandered to her lips, and occasionally further down her body.

I tried to hide my disappointment when I looked at my watch to see both hands pointing at twelve. The hours had flown by like seconds. I had to think of ways to see her again. Maybe she could use a study partner? Was it desperate if I asked for her number? 

“I had a great time studying with you, Susie.”

“Me too, Tyler. I can’t believe it’s already midnight.”

We stood outside the coffee shop. Her gorgeous pale skin glowed in the light of the full moon. I wondered if she would think it was weird if I hugged her goodbye. I was desperate to know how her fleshy body would feel against mine. Fuck, I also wanted to feel it under me and on top of me and in positions I’d only seen online. Maybe I could give her a ride home? It wasn’t safe for her to walk alone. Besides, I also wanted to know where she lived. Maybe next time we could study at her place. Maybe her bedroom. “Do you need a ride home?” I tried not to sound too hopeful.

“I usually take the Drunk Bus from the Rec center a few blocks away,” she said.

Ah, the Drunk Bus. A University method of transporting students between facilities late at night to cut down on drunk driving. I’d been warned to stay away from it unless I wanted vomit all over my clothes.

“My car’s right here.” I gestured toward the parking lot. “Why don’t I drive you instead?”

“Are you sure? The bus goes to Bailey Hall and I usually just walk a few blocks home from there.”

“A pretty girl like you shouldn’t be out walking alone at night. Come on, let me drive. I insist.”

She grinned. “Okay. If you insist.”

I smiled and started toward the small gravel parking lot next to coffee shop, with her by my side. I said, “Here’s my Cadillac,” when we arrived at my car.

I drove a champagne-colored 1980 Chevy Malibu I’d rebuilt by myself a few years earlier. It wasn’t the sexiest car in the world but I loved it.

“OOh! Is that a Malibu?” Her mouth hung open.

Was she actually excited about this car? “Yes.” I was stunned that she knew what it was.

“I knew someone who had one like this. It’s an 80, 81?”

“Eighty.” I answered.

“It has a lot of power, right? I drove it and loved it. I could outrun anybody on the road. I like a car with power. When I hit the gas, I want it to move.”

Looking back, I’m pretty sure that’s the moment I fell in love with her.

Susie and I got in my car and headed to her place. She made several more compliments about the Malibu, especially when I stepped on the gas. She seemed impressed when I told her I rebuilt the engine myself.

I liked having her next to me. As her sweet, peachy vanilla scent slowly filled the car, my mind wandered. I imagined taking long trips with her, talking, laughing, listening to the radio. Of course, my mini fantasies ended with us in the back seat.

She told me to stop in front of a two-story brick house on Grant Avenue in a quaint little neighborhood. It was different from most of the residential areas close to campus. None of the houses looked like they were ready to fall over from years of too many parties.

“How many roommates do you have?” I asked.

“I live alone.”

“In this huge house?” It was one of the biggest houses on her street. “How’d you manage that?”

“It’s kind of a long story. The short version is: my parents died, and my Aunt Lydia gave me her house a few years ago. She wanted to move out of the country but had sentimental reasons for keeping it in the family. So, instead of selling it, she gave it to me.” She paused to take a breath. “And that’s how I ended up in Lockwood.”

“Wow. I’m really sorry about your parents.”

“It’s okay. Don’t feel bad for me. I’ve had it pretty good. I actually lived here for a little while with my aunt when I was a teenager. I was glad she gave me the house.” She reached for the door handle. “I’d invite you in but it’s so late. I’m sure you need to go home.”

“I’m really not tired. I probably won’t go to bed for a few hours. My first class isn’t till eleven-thirty tomorrow.” Please take the hint, please take the hint…

She stuck her lower lip out while she pondered the idea. Her soft, moist, sexy lip… “All right,” she said, “then come on in.”

I wondered if she would’ve asked me to come in if she knew what kind of thoughts I’d had about her all day. I couldn’t believe what I was thinking. I was always the good guy. Always. I was the guy who waited to sleep with his girlfriends until they were ready, even if it meant weeks of suffering and frustration. My few experiences with casual sex were big mistakes I had no desire to repeat. But after the hours we’d spent together, I already liked her too much for it to be a casual hookup if something happened. 

I turned off the car and followed her inside. Her house was nice. Not fancy, but modest and comfortable… and enormous. There was a large dining room to the left. To the right, a living room big enough to store the house I grew up in. I followed her to the bottom of the stairs where she stood in one place and gave me an abbreviated tour.

“Help yourself to anything in the kitchen. The bathroom is over there.” She pointed to a door near the stairs. “Sorry, I’m not a great hostess. I’m used to people just helping themselves.”

“It’s fine. I don’t mind helping myself.” I went to the kitchen and opened the fridge. It was stocked full of beer.

“I just had a party last weekend. I don’t know why I bought so much beer. There were three kegs.” She laughed.

“Do you have a lot of parties?”

“Not a whole lot. An average of three a semester, maybe? I’m having another one the Friday night at the end of finals week. You should come. If I’d met you before tonight I would’ve invited you to the one I had on Saturday.”

Shit, I wish I met her sooner.

As I looked around the house I imagined being naked with her, everywhere. Bending her over this chair, throwing her down on that floor. What the hell’s wrong with me tonight? All I could think about was ravaging her all over the house like an animal.

“Oh, before I forget, a bunch of us get together to study almost every day. You can join us if you want. We start out at the student union and then go to somebody’s house, usually mine. I meant to tell you about it before we left the coffee shop.”

“Really? Which people, exactly?” I was a transfer student so I didn’t know that many people. I had pretty much been a loner, aside from my roommates and their friends. Besides that, I was a little bit older than most of the other students. It was their senior year so they were mostly twenty-one or twenty-two. I was about to turn twenty-six. I felt decades older than some of them even though it was only a few years.

“Let me think. Michael Rollins, Jacinda Clay, Corbie Linder, Dan Lafferty, Lisa Yeager,” she paused to think, “a lot of people kind of float in and out. Roger Lee, Kate Burnette, a few others. Oh, and my good friend Joan Melton. We usually start right after class every day.”

“Thanks for inviting me. I just got assigned to a project with Corbie, Dan, and another guy. We’re meeting tomorrow after class to talk about it.”

“I think I’m gonna be there, too. I got assigned to a group with Lisa, Joan, and Chris Noble. Lisa and Corbie thought it might be good if we got our two groups together to talk about what we’re supposed to do, since we don’t seem to have a clue.”

We had just been assigned a management project which wasn’t in the syllabus and the class unanimously decided it was unreasonable, given all the other work the course required. But I found myself pretty happy about it when I realized it’d give me more time with Susie. I was also happy I might finally make some new friends.

It was interesting that she called Joan Melton her ‘good friend.’ My roommate, Caleb, used to see Joan and she’d been over to our house many times. Small world, considering there were about fifteen thousand students enrolled at the University. Joan was a cool person to hang out with and she was also really cute. She hadn’t come over in a couple of months though. I thought it best not to bring up the fact that I knew her, at least not right then. I didn’t want to change the subject or sound like I was interested in her friend. I also didn’t realize Joan was in any of our classes.

“Do your parties get pretty wild? The accounting majors seem like a lively group,” I said.

“Depends on who you ask.” She paused, scratching her head. “Okay, yes, they can get pretty wild. Although, last weekend wasn’t so bad. But I don’t invite as many people anymore because I despise the cleanup. Most people don’t stick around to help. They usually pass out for the night and leave the next day too hung over to help me.”

“How many people passed out and stayed the night last weekend?”

“Only two, which was surprising. Carl Richter and Dan Lafferty.”

I was acquainted with Dan. From the little I knew of him, I had a feeling he had his own reasons for trying to stay over.

I really wanted to know if she was seeing anyone. “Your boyfriend must be pretty cool, to leave you alone in a house with two guys overnight.”

“Oh, I’m pretty sure I don’t have a boyfriend.” She giggled like there was an inside joke.

“Don’t most people know for sure if they have a boyfriend or not? Did you just break up with someone?”

“No. There’s a guy who thinks he’s my boyfriend. Seems like he’s finally given up though. Troy Anders,” she said.

Troy Anders. I recognized the name.

“Why does he think he’s your boyfriend?” I asked.

“You don’t want to know. Trust me.”

“No, I’m curious. I think I know him.” I acted like I wanted to know because I knew Troy. I couldn’t let on about my twinge of jealousy.

Susie took a deep breath. “Well, some people don’t know the difference between a relationship and a fling. That’s all.”

Ah. There’s obviously more to the story. “I see.”

“Does that lower your opinion of me?” she asked.

“No. What you do is your business. But why didn’t you want more than a fling with this guy?”

“I didn’t see the point,” she said.

I got a beer out of the fridge and walked with her into the living room. We sat on opposite ends of the couch and started talking again. I was thrilled that she hadn’t gotten tired of talking, even after nine hours with me.

She seemed genuinely interested by the questions she asked. I told her more about my family than I had at the coffee shop, like how I’d left community college for a few years to help out at home after my dad died. Then I told her about transferring to the University to finish my degree. More than once during the conversation, I imagined throwing her down on the couch.

“So how old are you, Tyler?” she asked.

“Twenty-five. Twenty-six soon.”

“I just turned twenty-five myself. I feel like an old woman around here.”

“You definitely don’t look old. I would’ve thought you were twenty-one if you hadn’t said something.”

“Some of the guys like to make fun of me for it. Especially Dan. I know he thinks he’s being playful but it stings. I’d rather be called just about anything than old. It’s the one thing about myself I can’t change.”

“Twenty-five is not old. Those guys are idiots. But I can relate. I feel ancient compared to some of these people.” It seemed like a good time to pay her a compliment but I couldn’t think of anything that didn’t sound stupid. Something like ‘you look good for your age’ didn’t quite fit the moment.

She was even more beautiful to me as the night went on. I loved the way her lips moved as she spoke, and the way she twirled her long, shiny blond hair in her fingers. I wanted so much to see her naked. The longer we chatted, the worse I felt about it. But after what she said about Troy, I wondered if I should feel so bad. She was very open about herself but I didn’t want to take advantage. And I sure didn’t want to be the next Troy.

“So, I’m still trying to remember if I know Troy.” I was pretty sure I didn’t actually know him but I hoped she’d give me more information.

“He’s tall, really muscular, has blond hair. Played soccer last year. I don’t think he’s playing this year,” she said.

That’s how I know the name. “So, you didn’t like the way he flung you?” I asked, trying to be funny. Hoping she would divulge more information.

She rolled her eyes and took a deep breath. “I guess that’s supposed to be a joke?” She laughed halfheartedly. “I just didn’t want anything serious. It’s how I’m made, I suppose. I mean, we all have needs, right?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Sometimes I think I’m more like a man than most guys. Aren’t men supposed to be the ones who use women then never call them again? I seem to attract these guys who wanna hang around and buy me flowers or something.”

I laughed nervously, trying to hide my disappointment. I figured it was her way of telling me not to get my hopes up about being her boyfriend. Not that I’d really thought “I want to be her boyfriend.” But in the fantasies I’d had all day, she was definitely only with me.

“I’m sure you think I’m terrible. I sound like a slut. And maybe I am, I don’t know.” She paused. “But I’m clean. I just had a physical.”

I burst into laughter. I didn’t expect her to say something so random. I wanted to be disturbed by what she told me about her sexuality but it only made me want to get to know her more. Most girls I knew weren’t so comfortable with themselves. She was honest and unashamed of her identity. It was a huge turn on. But by that point, I think she could’ve picked up the phone book and started reading numbers out loud and it would’ve turned me on.

I also had a feeling the reason these guys always wanted to hang around was because they got a taste of something they liked and they wanted more. That body of hers was probably as much fun as I imagined.

“What?” She laughed. “I sound ridiculous, don’t I?”

“No. I think you just like to do what makes you feel good. So, you might break a soccer player’s heart here or there.”

“Yeah.” She frowned. “I was always honest with him. That’s probably my downfall. I was too honest and I became a challenge.”

I thought about everything she said. She told me she was clean. She was honest about having physical needs. Was this her way of coming on to me? If I made a move on her, I wondered if I would end up staying until the next morning. Unfortunately, I already knew I was capable of feeling something much stronger for her than she might ever feel for me.

She went on with her theory about Troy. “I used to think men only wanted sex and they had no feelings. I’ve realized in the past couple of years men actually do have feelings. We all use each other at some point. We all have needs. Women use men, men use women. Some men are sensitive, some aren’t. It took me years to learn that.”

A thought popped into my mind to tell her I had a physical need for her. Thankfully, I couldn’t get the dorky words to come out of my mouth. One part of me hesitated, but another part of me thought I should live in the moment and try to seduce her. I considered my options as I looked at her pretty face.

She met my gaze, smiling. “What are you thinkin’, Tyler?” Her voice stroked my ears like velvet. Her Southern accent was strong when she said my name…Tah-ler.

I felt shy, which was surprising, considering how aggressive my thoughts were. The only two casual sexual encounters of my past happened when I was drunk with liquid courage. Sitting on a couch, sober, wanting to make a move on a gorgeous woman I’d just met was new for me. I wanted her. I wanted to take her right there on the couch. I wanted to rip her clothes off and run my hands all over her and finally know what she felt like instead of just imagining it. I’d never experienced such a voluptuous woman. She looked like the subject of a Rubenesque painting. When I studied art history several years earlier I didn’t give those women much thought. They looked beautiful in an artistic way but I hadn’t thought about finding a real one of my own. A big part of me simply wanted to bend her over and pound her. I got hard just sitting there looking at her. Her flawless skin, her lips, those tits...

Suddenly, she scooted toward me on the couch. My heart pounded wildly.

She took my hand and gently placed it on her breast. I was in shock at her boldness. We were just having a conversation and suddenly she was beside me, holding my hand against a part of her that had already become very dear to me.

“I couldn’t help noticing today you like to touch these,” she said.

I exhaled. “I thought I was being clever.”

“Oh, you were. Much smoother than most guys.” She nodded.

[***]

“Well, Tyler, I had a lot of fun studying with you today.” She laughed in a way that sounded nervous to me. Maybe she was as surprised as I was by how our day ended?

The complete saga is available here.

I smiled. I may have even blushed. I put my arms around her to give her a long hug, enjoying the feel of her soft body against me once more. I kissed her forehead, then her lips. The sight of her standing there with nothing on but a shirt that barely went past her waist was about to get me hard again. I knew I needed to leave or we’d go until the wee hours of the morning and end up sleeping through the finance test.

What was I supposed to say before I left? I wanted to tell her I hope to see her again. I also wanted to thank her for the fantastic sex we’d just had. I couldn’t think of a way to say it all and not sound like another annoying guy who wanted more of her attention. However, there was one thing I knew for certain: I had to get her to be with me, exclusively. And I was already determined to figure out a way to make that happen.

“All right,” I said, loosening my tight grip. “Thanks for giving me a wonderful day.” I would’ve asked to sleep over but she seemed to be shoving me out the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow at the Cellar, right?”

“Yes. I’ll be there,” she said.

“Okay then. I need to go get some sleep.”

“Me too,” she said. Right before I opened the door to leave, she added, “I had a wonderful day with you, too.”

My heart pounded erratically. I already had it so bad for her. Immediately, her words about not wanting anything serious rang loudly in my head. I stepped forward to give her another kiss, much longer this time. I let my arms linger around her back, then reached down to her naked ass. We kissed as my hands lingered there, rubbing and squeezing her fleshy, round cheeks. I couldn’t resist the urge to draw my hand back and give her left cheek a sharp smack. She giggled, then moaned. Note to self: if fortunate enough to be with her again, explore this further.

It was hard to stop kissing her, but I had to go home. I pulled away and gave her one last glance before opening the door to go outside. “See you tomorrow.”

I came home to a quiet house at three o’clock in the morning when my roommates were all asleep. I went straight to bed with nothing but my thoughts to keep me company. I hadn’t really thought about having a girlfriend in a long time. My last serious relationship ended almost a year earlier, but it was over long before without me realizing it. I’d neglected her because I had family issues to deal with. She started seeing someone else and wanted to officially break it off with me. I wasn’t even upset about it when she broke the news.

Women hadn’t been much of a priority to me since my dad died. Settling down and finding the right person were goals I kept in the back of my mind and I assumed they would probably happen…someday. But first, I wanted to finish school and start my own business. I needed to make sure my mom and the rest of my family were well cared for, including my future wife and children. I didn’t want them to be in the situation my family was in when we lost Dad. And sure, I was a man. I thought about women all the time, but they’d been too much effort for me in the past. Occasionally I’d meet girls on campus who piqued my interest. I’d flirt and sometimes even think about pursuing one in particular but my mind always found its way several weeks or months down the road, when she might be upset with me for not paying her enough attention, or not taking her to the right restaurant on Valentine’s Day. Or expect me to drop everything I was doing because she had a bad day and needed me, with no regard to the fact that I have problems too, like getting through college, or making sure my family doesn’t fall apart. Maybe my past girlfriends were too needy. I figured all women were like that.

I’d gotten way into porn as a result. I wouldn’t say I was addicted, but it was there when I needed it. And I needed it often.

I made the mistake of hooking up on two separate occasions in the past year with women I’d just met. One, I’d met at a bar when I was still living at home and helping my family. I went out with friends who were home from college over their Thanksgiving break. I was lonely and I drank too much. I felt terrible about it when I woke up in her bed the next morning. She tried to call me for weeks, even after I told her I didn’t like her that way. I swore it would never happen again. And then, in March, I hooked up with a girl I met at a friend’s party. The fallout was so bad that I tried to put it out of my mind forever. And once again, I swore it was the last time.

Susanna Lombardi had caught me off guard in many ways. She was completely different from anybody I’d ever known, let alone anybody I’d ever been attracted to. She stirred up desires and emotions in me I’d forgotten were there. My mind kept going over the list of things I liked about her. Things that made her stand out from the other girls. I felt like I could talk to her about anything. She listened without judging or giving unnecessary advice. She didn’t seem like she’d be needy in a relationship. Mostly because she said she didn’t even want a relationship.

Shit. There’s the rub. This phenomenal woman steamrolls into my life and she doesn’t want anything serious. At least she says she doesn’t. I had no idea what I was going to do. Now that we’d gotten to know each other--in typical porn star fashion--I would still see her in many of my classes. What if she tries to blow me off? What if I walk around campus with a constant erection because she’s around and I can’t stop thinking about what happened?

Maybe I was overreacting. I had a great time with a great girl. If nothing else, at least I had some amazing memories. Even if I ended up married to someone else, I’d still have the memory of that night of mind-blowing sex, which was probably only a taste of who she was, sexually. Fuck. I have to marry her. This argument with myself did not end the way I’d planned.

I really hoped it would wear off, this euphoria from getting laid for the first time in months. Maybe that’s all this is, I told myself. There’s no reason to worry.

The past few years had been pretty rough on me. Since May, I lived in a house with three other guys and they were always bringing different girls home. That lifestyle didn’t appeal to me but it didn’t mean I couldn’t have some fun once in a while, right? It didn’t make me a “bad guy.” It’s normal college behavior. Part of the college experience. It wasn’t a part I was interested in before but maybe I was warming up to the idea.

As much as I tried to justify it to myself, the reality of the situation was this: I had feelings for someone who could really hurt me. I lay wide awake in bed, staring up at the ceiling for hours. My thoughts only wanted to relive the memories that began when she sat at that table. Talking, studying, laughing, kissing, fucking...she made everything so easy and special.

I remembered something she said: shouldn’t it be the woman who feels this way? I couldn’t imagine any of my roommates having these thoughts. Those three did whatever they pleased. Girls would call them and stop by the house for days afterward, and my roommates couldn’t have cared less.

Shit. How did I get myself into this?

**********

I should note that the original Safe With Me was written and released in eight installments. The first is still offered for free, but you may as well pick up the entire book because once you've read Part One, you'll want to read the rest.

Next week ends our Summer (Romance) Reading Marathon. After that, I hope to post a new FREE! crochet pattern, the next in the Blog Collection handbag series. That's if I can get some decent pictures taken between now and then.

Happy Summer Reading!