The third vat held a marigold color which, when dyed into the wool, produced the softest and most pleasing shade of golden orange. These dyes had been selected with the utmost care, because it was essential to the operation that Dimitri capture the colors with precision.
To Dimitri's left, the enormous mechanism of his weaving machine waited. Smooth and shining, the machine had been meticulously polished to remove every trace of machine oil and dust from its exterior. To save labor, Dimitri had to invent a cleaning machine to perform the task. The cleaner rested in a large appliance garage behind the behemoth loom.
Dimitri turned to the wiry, gray-haired man beside him. "Vould you care to do the honors, Mr. Loideain*?"
The elderly man eyed the Russian with skepticism, his green eyes flashing in the bright factory light. "Only if you're sure this thing is safe, Count Vronsky."
Dimitri politely ignored his newly-coined nickname. "I assure you my gearvorks are safely contained inside the mechanism of the loom, created with such clockvork precision, human hands need come near them only in rare cases of malfunction. Such a case is only to happen many years in the future."
Loideain made a small noise to indicate what he thought of the foreigner's high estimation of his factory. In halting steps he made his way over to the lever protruding from the wall and pulled. The thing proved more stubborn than Loideain had anticipated; it did not move. Loideain braced himself and pulled the lever again, much harder this time.
A humming came from the direction of the vats. Loideain turned his head in time to see a series of metal spools come down from ceiling and dip into the tops of the dye vats. Around each of these wound yards of snow-white wool. The spools submerged, then spun, the threads they bore unwinding in the depths of the dye.
From the bottoms of the vats, another series of spools rose. As the newly-dyed wool unwound from one spool, it free-floated for only a moment before the second spool caught it and rotated. When the first spool emptied and the second one filled, the thread appeared to be sucked down a tube at the center of the bottom spool.
"Where does it go?" Loideain asked the Russian.
"The beauty of my system," Dimitri said rather grandly, "is the wet wool never sees the light of day after it enters the dye vats. It's forced through the tube, where a steady flow of warm air dries it and allows the dye to set. A series of wheels direct it to a set of spools arranged in a precise order, and the loom does its vork from there."
Loideain jumped as the gigantic loom whirred to life. In addition to the whirring sound of the engine, it produced dozens of small clicks as the wheels Dimitri had described grabbed onto the warm, dry thread. The thing sounded like an enormous typewriter, or a popcorn popper.
****
“My high-speed loom is weaving the thread into cloth,” Dimitri replied.
Moments later, a loud rushing sound proceeded from the near end of the loom. “Follow me,” Dimitri said, leading Mr. Loideain down a metal spiral staircase that clanged as they walked.
They walked out onto a factory floor as large as that with the dye vats and the tremendous loom. This time, the product of the loom’s work was clearly visible. Through a large metallic slot in the wall, a conveyer fed a long sheet of green, white, gold, and blue cloth toward a series of mechanical arms, hanging from the ceiling like vaguely menacing iron spiders.
“What do you think?” the Russian asked the elderly Irishman. Loideain was silent for a moment, and Dimitri’s heart thundered in his chest. Had all his work – investing in this small, muddy town so far from his home, inventing the mechanisms, bringing his brainchild to life – been in vain? If Loideain wasn’t impressed with the quality of the cloth, the entire enterprise was worthless.
But Loideain’s eyes filled with tears. “In all my sixty years, I’ve only rarely seen anything so beautiful, and I live in the land of Ireland,” he sputtered. “It’s exactly like the ones me mam and grandmam made for me and the boys when we were small. Being the last of my line, the last male member of Clan Loideain, I never thought I’d live to see its like again. But you, Count Vronsky – er, Mr. Ivanov – you’ve brought my clan colors back from the dead. I feel like I’m witnessing a miracle!”
Dimitri was taken aback by the effusive praise. To resurrect the Loideain family’s traditional colors, its pattern, its link to the past even when the last Loideain granddaughters were married off and the family named disappeared, had been Dimitri’s hope from the start.
With precise timing, the mechanical spiders sprang to life, grabbing the roll of woolen cloth with steel hands and snipping it into identical pieces with steel scissors. These snips of cloth were fed into a large metal box. The box hummed, filled as it was with mechanized sewing machines. The box opened, and a wooden figure resembling a dressmaker’s dummy emerged from the open side. The dummy wore a Loideain plaid kilt.
(*pronounced LIE-din)
Showing posts with label short story. Show all posts
Showing posts with label short story. Show all posts
Monday, February 26, 2018
Tuesday, March 25, 2014
A Taste of Rome by Lucy Felthouse - #Erotica Excerpt
Blurb:
Book three of the World of Sin series.
Ryan Stonebridge and his friend Kristian Hurst have traveled to London and Paris on their “gap year” adventure, before starting university. Now it’s on to Rome.
The American girls they met in Paris are along for the ride, providing lots of sexy fun for the boys. But as no one in the foursome is looking for commitment, there’s still plenty of scope for hooking up with the locals. Voyeurism, cougars, risky outdoor sex and threesomes abound in the Italian leg of the boys’ European adventure.
Available from: http://lucyfelthouse.co.uk/published-works/a-taste-of-rome/
Add to your Goodreads shelves: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/18399288-a-taste-of-rome
*****
Excerpt:
Ryan came to the conclusion that perhaps this journey wasn’t so horrendous after all. He’d been a little miffed that the American girls, Shanna and Taryn, had wanted to tag along from Paris to Rome with him and Kristian. He’d been keen not to end up with any chicks who wanted more than a one night stand, figuring that any romantic entanglements would screw up their footloose and fancy-free gap year trip. Their last year of freedom, without commitment, before they went to University and had to grow up, buckle down.
In the here and now, however, Ryan decided that Shanna actually wasn’t that bad. It seemed she was determined to spice up the never-ending coach trip from Paris to Rome. Eight hundred and seventy miles, thirteen hours. They’d known when they’d booked it that it would be nigh on intolerable, but it was the cheapest way to travel. And having sat in the increasingly stuffy, tiny coach, Ryan could see why. It made cramped seats in coach class on a flight feel like first class.
Shanna had removed her jacket as the crap air-conditioning was utterly failing to cool down the cabin. It had been draped over her lap for a while before she slid it across so it covered part of his too. Ryan frowned, wondering why she thought it was a good idea to make him warmer. He was already melting in the heat. Then she slipped her hand beneath the jacket and moved it over his crotch. She squeezed his flaccid cock, making her intentions absolutely clear. He realized that if he continued to stare down at their laps it would be painfully obvious to anyone who glanced in their direction what they were up to. So he leaned over and kissed Shanna’s cheek, nuzzling her red hair out of the way to murmur into her ear.
“I’m going to try and act natural.” Then, remembering what had happened to him back in London when he’d ended up with cum-filled boxer shorts, he added, “Can you, uh, catch it in a tissue?”
Grinning, Shanna revealed the flimsy white material in her other hand. It appeared she’d already thought of that. Saucy wench—he liked her. She was a fun girl, gorgeous-looking and a great lay. Had things been different, he might have considered pursuing something long-term with her, but it wasn’t going to happen. He and Kristian had this one chance, this few months to live life to the fullest, do what they wanted, do who they wanted, go where they liked, and he wasn’t going to throw it away for a green-eyed, cute-accented chick. No way.
He wasn’t worried about upsetting her, though. He knew that she and her friend had a similar pact and outlook on their European travels. They too were hooking up, having a good time and moving on.
Ryan grinned out of the window. Life was good. A sexy girl was about to get his cock out on a coach and toss him off, and he was heading to the third destination on his gap year adventure. The Italian capital awaited and he couldn’t wait to see what it had in store.
Before he got there, though, he was going to have another orgasm on public transport. First the toilets on the Eurostar, now beneath a jacket on a coach. God, what was it with women and doing it in cramped, risky places? And Blanche—the French bird on the Eurostar—and Shanna weren’t the only ones he was thinking of. He was beginning to forget what it was like to have sex in a bed. Not that he was complaining—Christ, no. If a sexy woman propositioned him, who was he to refuse?
By now Shanna had undone his belt, button and fly and released his cock from his boxers. It had taken a while as she’d had to keep her movements slow, subtle, so no one realized what was happening. As a result of all the fumbling, his dick was rock hard by the time she got it out, and it sprung eagerly into her hand.
She leaned her head on his shoulder and he slipped his arm around her, pulling her close. Anyone who looked now would just see a couple of young people having a cuddle. Or possibly a hot redhead sleeping on the shoulder of a young man who could either be her boyfriend or a total stranger.
Carefully, she began to stroke him, getting into a rhythm that would drive him to climax without anyone knowing.
Ryan turned back to the window, giving the appearance of looking out at the darkening sky. Shanna’s grip tightened, her movements grew faster and he grew closer to coming. He dug his teeth into his bottom lip in an attempt to regain some kind of control. It didn’t help—his hormones raged and the familiar tingle at the base of his spine was a dead giveaway.
Looking as chilled out, as casual as possible, he turned to Shanna and whispered, “You’d better get that tissue ready—otherwise I’m going to make an awful mess.”
She gave a single nod of understanding and moved her other hand beneath the jacket, slowly, languidly. It probably looked as though she was just changing position, rather than anything naughtier. Ryan, however, was at the stage where he didn’t care. If anyone happened to look across, happened to confront them, he’d hold a hand up to keep them quiet until he finished.
*****
Lucy Felthouse is a very busy woman! She writes erotica and erotic romance in a variety of subgenres and pairings, and has over 100 publications to her name, with many more in the pipeline. These include several editions of Best Bondage Erotica, Best Women's Erotica 2013 and Best Erotic Romance 2014. Another string to her bow is editing, and she has edited and co-edited a number of anthologies, and also edits for a small publishing house. She owns Erotica For All, and is book editor for Cliterati. Find out more at http://www.lucyfelthouse.co.uk. Join her on Facebook and Twitter, and subscribe to her newsletter at: http://eepurl.com/gMQb9
Book three of the World of Sin series.
Ryan Stonebridge and his friend Kristian Hurst have traveled to London and Paris on their “gap year” adventure, before starting university. Now it’s on to Rome.
The American girls they met in Paris are along for the ride, providing lots of sexy fun for the boys. But as no one in the foursome is looking for commitment, there’s still plenty of scope for hooking up with the locals. Voyeurism, cougars, risky outdoor sex and threesomes abound in the Italian leg of the boys’ European adventure.
Available from: http://lucyfelthouse.co.uk/published-works/a-taste-of-rome/
Add to your Goodreads shelves: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/18399288-a-taste-of-rome
*****
Excerpt:
Ryan came to the conclusion that perhaps this journey wasn’t so horrendous after all. He’d been a little miffed that the American girls, Shanna and Taryn, had wanted to tag along from Paris to Rome with him and Kristian. He’d been keen not to end up with any chicks who wanted more than a one night stand, figuring that any romantic entanglements would screw up their footloose and fancy-free gap year trip. Their last year of freedom, without commitment, before they went to University and had to grow up, buckle down.
In the here and now, however, Ryan decided that Shanna actually wasn’t that bad. It seemed she was determined to spice up the never-ending coach trip from Paris to Rome. Eight hundred and seventy miles, thirteen hours. They’d known when they’d booked it that it would be nigh on intolerable, but it was the cheapest way to travel. And having sat in the increasingly stuffy, tiny coach, Ryan could see why. It made cramped seats in coach class on a flight feel like first class.
Shanna had removed her jacket as the crap air-conditioning was utterly failing to cool down the cabin. It had been draped over her lap for a while before she slid it across so it covered part of his too. Ryan frowned, wondering why she thought it was a good idea to make him warmer. He was already melting in the heat. Then she slipped her hand beneath the jacket and moved it over his crotch. She squeezed his flaccid cock, making her intentions absolutely clear. He realized that if he continued to stare down at their laps it would be painfully obvious to anyone who glanced in their direction what they were up to. So he leaned over and kissed Shanna’s cheek, nuzzling her red hair out of the way to murmur into her ear.
“I’m going to try and act natural.” Then, remembering what had happened to him back in London when he’d ended up with cum-filled boxer shorts, he added, “Can you, uh, catch it in a tissue?”
Grinning, Shanna revealed the flimsy white material in her other hand. It appeared she’d already thought of that. Saucy wench—he liked her. She was a fun girl, gorgeous-looking and a great lay. Had things been different, he might have considered pursuing something long-term with her, but it wasn’t going to happen. He and Kristian had this one chance, this few months to live life to the fullest, do what they wanted, do who they wanted, go where they liked, and he wasn’t going to throw it away for a green-eyed, cute-accented chick. No way.
He wasn’t worried about upsetting her, though. He knew that she and her friend had a similar pact and outlook on their European travels. They too were hooking up, having a good time and moving on.
Ryan grinned out of the window. Life was good. A sexy girl was about to get his cock out on a coach and toss him off, and he was heading to the third destination on his gap year adventure. The Italian capital awaited and he couldn’t wait to see what it had in store.
Before he got there, though, he was going to have another orgasm on public transport. First the toilets on the Eurostar, now beneath a jacket on a coach. God, what was it with women and doing it in cramped, risky places? And Blanche—the French bird on the Eurostar—and Shanna weren’t the only ones he was thinking of. He was beginning to forget what it was like to have sex in a bed. Not that he was complaining—Christ, no. If a sexy woman propositioned him, who was he to refuse?
By now Shanna had undone his belt, button and fly and released his cock from his boxers. It had taken a while as she’d had to keep her movements slow, subtle, so no one realized what was happening. As a result of all the fumbling, his dick was rock hard by the time she got it out, and it sprung eagerly into her hand.
She leaned her head on his shoulder and he slipped his arm around her, pulling her close. Anyone who looked now would just see a couple of young people having a cuddle. Or possibly a hot redhead sleeping on the shoulder of a young man who could either be her boyfriend or a total stranger.
Carefully, she began to stroke him, getting into a rhythm that would drive him to climax without anyone knowing.
Ryan turned back to the window, giving the appearance of looking out at the darkening sky. Shanna’s grip tightened, her movements grew faster and he grew closer to coming. He dug his teeth into his bottom lip in an attempt to regain some kind of control. It didn’t help—his hormones raged and the familiar tingle at the base of his spine was a dead giveaway.
Looking as chilled out, as casual as possible, he turned to Shanna and whispered, “You’d better get that tissue ready—otherwise I’m going to make an awful mess.”
She gave a single nod of understanding and moved her other hand beneath the jacket, slowly, languidly. It probably looked as though she was just changing position, rather than anything naughtier. Ryan, however, was at the stage where he didn’t care. If anyone happened to look across, happened to confront them, he’d hold a hand up to keep them quiet until he finished.
*****
Lucy Felthouse is a very busy woman! She writes erotica and erotic romance in a variety of subgenres and pairings, and has over 100 publications to her name, with many more in the pipeline. These include several editions of Best Bondage Erotica, Best Women's Erotica 2013 and Best Erotic Romance 2014. Another string to her bow is editing, and she has edited and co-edited a number of anthologies, and also edits for a small publishing house. She owns Erotica For All, and is book editor for Cliterati. Find out more at http://www.lucyfelthouse.co.uk. Join her on Facebook and Twitter, and subscribe to her newsletter at: http://eepurl.com/gMQb9
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
WIP Wednesday Strikes Again - What are YOU Writing?
Authors, would you like to share approximately 100-200 words about a current work in progress on a future WIP Wednesday? If so, please e-mail the details to erinoriordan AT sbcglobal DOT net.
Erin O'Riordan: This is the beginning of one of my current works in progress - romance, not erotica, this time. I was planning on having this polished up and ready to submit by the end of January, but the deadline got moved forward to April 1st. I've also been working on one called "Sheep Shifter" this week (definitely due Feb. 1) and another (already accepted) called "Aftercare."
Excerpt:
Eric sat on the long bench of dark wood, its seat worn smooth by heavy traffic. He sat alone, which only underscored to him that whatever the Queen had to say to him, it had to be important. Queen Jasmine rarely had the opportunity to clear her schedule.
To his left, the heavy door built of the same dark wood at the bench was flanked by two members of the palace guard, dressed in Avalonia’s traditional black and white uniforms. The baroque garments of velvet, satin, lace and hosiery surely looked rather ridiculous to an outsider, but never failed to make Eric proud of his fiercely independent nation and its ancient heritage. Besides, when two men were as tall, muscular and generally dangerous-looking as the two members of the guard currently on duty, no one would dare make fun.
The doors opened, and a prim-looking young woman with short hair, wearing a dress accented with a red satin rose, stood in the doorway. “Eric de la Fontaine, Her Majesty’s minister of finance,” she announced in the clipped, upper-class accent of the Avalonian capital, Givene. He took his briefcase from where it sat between his feet, rose and approached the woman. She turned, and Eric knew he was to follow her.
The Queen, a dignified, petite olive-skinned woman of about fifty-five with intense hazel eyes, sat in an ergonomic chair behind a long table. She wore her long, black pulled back in a tight French braid and dressed in a sensible gray wool suit with a skirt that reached just below her knees.
Eric bowed his head respectfully. “Good afternoon, Your Majesty.”
“There’s no need to be formal, Eric,” she responded. “I haven’t called you here to talk to you about the affairs of state. I’ve come to talk to you about a personal matter. Please, have a seat.” The Queen’s assistant pulled out a chair across from the Queen, nodded, and returned to her small desk beside the door. Eric placed his briefcase on the table.
“A personal matter, Your Majesty?” he asked as he sat.
An attendant, a young man with shockingly red hair, brought the queen a decanter of Scotch, a dish of ice and two glasses on a tray. The attendant added ice to each tumbler, then poured a generous portion of the amber liquid over it. He served the Queen first, then Eric. Eric nodded to indicate his thanks. As the Queen took a long sip of her drink, Eric nipped at his. It was stronger than he typically liked to imbibe this early in the afternoon. He leaned back in his chair and tried to relax, although he felt a surge of anxiety.
“As you know, Eric, my third daughter Evangeline is almost twenty-one. She’s a strong, responsible girl, and soon I’ll want to abdicate my throne to her.”
When she paused, Eric broke in, “It’s far too soon to think about abdication, Your Majesty.”
She smiled. “It’s true that I come from a line of long-lived queens, but I don’t want to be stuck in this official life forever. Honored as I am to fulfill my hereditary position, I truly cannot envision serving Avalonia from behind this desk for the rest of my days. I want to spend time with my husbands, directly involved in our favorite charities. But before my crown princess can become queen, I want to make sure she has her household in order. She needs at least one husband.”
Eric swallowed hard. “Yes, Your Majesty,” the minister agreed, taking a sip of his Scotch. “As I am sure you’re aware, Her Highness is in love with a friend of mine, the Irish banker John Gabriel.” He smiled slightly. He was a bit jealous, of course. Crown Princess Evangeline was a lovely young woman, a favorite of paparazzi the world over.
The Queen shook her head. “I’m sure Gabriel is a fine man. But he’s an Irish citizen, and out of the country half of the time on business. Traditionally, the queen’s first husband is either native-born or royalty. Gabriel will make a fine second or third husband.” She finished her drink and set the glass on the tray. “Eric, you’re not married, are you?”
Eric’s heart leapt. He answered in a trembling voice, “No, Majesty.”
“Please forgive me, Eric. I don’t mean to be so personal, but I must know: do you have a lover?”
He blushed slightly. At one time, he had been the lover of the queen’s eldest daughter Morgan. That was long before Morgan married her two husbands, and Eric had been without female companionship for longer than he cared to remember. “No, Majesty.”
“Do you have any children?”
“No, Majesty.” He felt certain he must be blushing a deep red, if not the color of a beet. It was not every day that one had one’s personal life so closely scrutinized by the head of state.
The Queen seemed a bit surprised, arching her black eyebrows slightly, but continued. “If my Evangeline agrees, will you marry her?”
He froze, considering his answer carefully. When the Queen had asked for him that morning, he was expected her to ask him to head off some minor financial crisis. Never, in his wildest flights of fancy, did he consider having to answer this particular question. He reached for his drink, drained it down to the ice cubes and made up his mind.
Anybody have an idea for a title?
Erin O'Riordan: This is the beginning of one of my current works in progress - romance, not erotica, this time. I was planning on having this polished up and ready to submit by the end of January, but the deadline got moved forward to April 1st. I've also been working on one called "Sheep Shifter" this week (definitely due Feb. 1) and another (already accepted) called "Aftercare."
Excerpt:
Eric sat on the long bench of dark wood, its seat worn smooth by heavy traffic. He sat alone, which only underscored to him that whatever the Queen had to say to him, it had to be important. Queen Jasmine rarely had the opportunity to clear her schedule.
To his left, the heavy door built of the same dark wood at the bench was flanked by two members of the palace guard, dressed in Avalonia’s traditional black and white uniforms. The baroque garments of velvet, satin, lace and hosiery surely looked rather ridiculous to an outsider, but never failed to make Eric proud of his fiercely independent nation and its ancient heritage. Besides, when two men were as tall, muscular and generally dangerous-looking as the two members of the guard currently on duty, no one would dare make fun.
The doors opened, and a prim-looking young woman with short hair, wearing a dress accented with a red satin rose, stood in the doorway. “Eric de la Fontaine, Her Majesty’s minister of finance,” she announced in the clipped, upper-class accent of the Avalonian capital, Givene. He took his briefcase from where it sat between his feet, rose and approached the woman. She turned, and Eric knew he was to follow her.
The Queen, a dignified, petite olive-skinned woman of about fifty-five with intense hazel eyes, sat in an ergonomic chair behind a long table. She wore her long, black pulled back in a tight French braid and dressed in a sensible gray wool suit with a skirt that reached just below her knees.
Eric bowed his head respectfully. “Good afternoon, Your Majesty.”
“There’s no need to be formal, Eric,” she responded. “I haven’t called you here to talk to you about the affairs of state. I’ve come to talk to you about a personal matter. Please, have a seat.” The Queen’s assistant pulled out a chair across from the Queen, nodded, and returned to her small desk beside the door. Eric placed his briefcase on the table.
“A personal matter, Your Majesty?” he asked as he sat.
An attendant, a young man with shockingly red hair, brought the queen a decanter of Scotch, a dish of ice and two glasses on a tray. The attendant added ice to each tumbler, then poured a generous portion of the amber liquid over it. He served the Queen first, then Eric. Eric nodded to indicate his thanks. As the Queen took a long sip of her drink, Eric nipped at his. It was stronger than he typically liked to imbibe this early in the afternoon. He leaned back in his chair and tried to relax, although he felt a surge of anxiety.
“As you know, Eric, my third daughter Evangeline is almost twenty-one. She’s a strong, responsible girl, and soon I’ll want to abdicate my throne to her.”
When she paused, Eric broke in, “It’s far too soon to think about abdication, Your Majesty.”
She smiled. “It’s true that I come from a line of long-lived queens, but I don’t want to be stuck in this official life forever. Honored as I am to fulfill my hereditary position, I truly cannot envision serving Avalonia from behind this desk for the rest of my days. I want to spend time with my husbands, directly involved in our favorite charities. But before my crown princess can become queen, I want to make sure she has her household in order. She needs at least one husband.”
Eric swallowed hard. “Yes, Your Majesty,” the minister agreed, taking a sip of his Scotch. “As I am sure you’re aware, Her Highness is in love with a friend of mine, the Irish banker John Gabriel.” He smiled slightly. He was a bit jealous, of course. Crown Princess Evangeline was a lovely young woman, a favorite of paparazzi the world over.
The Queen shook her head. “I’m sure Gabriel is a fine man. But he’s an Irish citizen, and out of the country half of the time on business. Traditionally, the queen’s first husband is either native-born or royalty. Gabriel will make a fine second or third husband.” She finished her drink and set the glass on the tray. “Eric, you’re not married, are you?”
Eric’s heart leapt. He answered in a trembling voice, “No, Majesty.”
“Please forgive me, Eric. I don’t mean to be so personal, but I must know: do you have a lover?”
He blushed slightly. At one time, he had been the lover of the queen’s eldest daughter Morgan. That was long before Morgan married her two husbands, and Eric had been without female companionship for longer than he cared to remember. “No, Majesty.”
“Do you have any children?”
“No, Majesty.” He felt certain he must be blushing a deep red, if not the color of a beet. It was not every day that one had one’s personal life so closely scrutinized by the head of state.
The Queen seemed a bit surprised, arching her black eyebrows slightly, but continued. “If my Evangeline agrees, will you marry her?”
He froze, considering his answer carefully. When the Queen had asked for him that morning, he was expected her to ask him to head off some minor financial crisis. Never, in his wildest flights of fancy, did he consider having to answer this particular question. He reached for his drink, drained it down to the ice cubes and made up his mind.
Anybody have an idea for a title?
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
Add this to your October reading list: Wonder
The latest anthology to feature an original Erin O'Riordan short story has been published this October by eXcessica. It's called Wonder, and it's a collection of short romantic stories. Mine is called "Butterfly Boy," and it's about a woman who falls in love with a man she meets at the park. I won't give away the supernatural twist. Each story has one as well as the steamy erotica content you've come to expect from eXcessica.
Official book blurb: "Whether it’s werewolves, vampires, shapeshifters, angels, ghosts or aliens—these are stories with all of those strange and wonderfully sexy creatures that fascinate the human psyche! Come on a spicy, paranormal journey that ventures into titillating realms bound only the imaginations of your favorite eXcessica authors! A dozen stories included in this volume by Wynter O’Reilly, Selena Kitt, D.B. Story, Sommer Marsden, J.M. Snyder, Dakota Trace, Piers Anthony, Roxanne Rhoads, Elise Hepner, Darcy Sweet, Christabel Rouseau and Erin O’Riordan."
An excerpt from "Butterfly Boy:"
As much as I tried to calm myself and focus on the peaceful environs of the garden, every time I closed my eyes I was flooded with violent images of cold-blooded beasts with bared fangs dripping blood. I kept remembering the nightmare I’d had, but my memories were more terrifying than the dream had been. Even as I sat in the lightly shaded garden on a hot summer day, chills wracked my body.
My unpleasant meditations were disrupted when something landed on my toes. I looked down at my sandals and saw my toes were covered over with a bright red flying disc. I looked around, but the thrower was nowhere to be seen.
I heard him before I saw him; he came in through the back gate and up behind me. I turned to see his approach. He wore long, red basketball shorts, a white t-shirt soaked in sweat, and a red headband holding back his heavily gelled, spiky black hair. Though he was dressed like a teen, he was at least my age, twenty-four.
“Hey, have you seen my flying disc?” he asked me. I picked it up and held it up for him to see. “Thanks,” he said as I handed it back to him.
“I didn’t think anyone else was in the garden today,” I said. “I wouldn’t want my meditation to get in the way of your game of catch.”
He snorted slightly, catching the note of sarcasm. “Actually, my friends and I are playing in the park across the street. This one was a wild throw.”
“Wow,” I said. The disc must have flown at least sixty yards. “Nice arm.” He did have nice arms, with thick, toned biceps. The sleeves of his shirt showed them off nicely; I couldn’t help but notice.
He shook his head. “Nah, I didn’t throw it. It was my friend Rick. I’m Jake, by the way.” He tucked the disc under his arm before offering me his hand.
“Lacey Burke,” I said as we shook.
“I’ve seen you around here before,” he said. “You like the Japanese garden, don’t you?”
“It’s my favorite place to meditate.”
“I know what you mean. The park’s my favorite place to kick back and catch some fresh air and sunshine, you know?”
“I’ve never noticed you before,” I said honestly.
He chuckled. “Well, since your focus is kinda scattered at the moment, and your meditation’s kinda ruined, want to play with my friends and me? We’re going to go get burgers in a while.”
I cocked my head. “Are you asking me out, Jake?”
He smiled. He had a nice smile. “I guess so, Lacey. Come on, I’ll introduce you to my friends.”
Official book blurb: "Whether it’s werewolves, vampires, shapeshifters, angels, ghosts or aliens—these are stories with all of those strange and wonderfully sexy creatures that fascinate the human psyche! Come on a spicy, paranormal journey that ventures into titillating realms bound only the imaginations of your favorite eXcessica authors! A dozen stories included in this volume by Wynter O’Reilly, Selena Kitt, D.B. Story, Sommer Marsden, J.M. Snyder, Dakota Trace, Piers Anthony, Roxanne Rhoads, Elise Hepner, Darcy Sweet, Christabel Rouseau and Erin O’Riordan."
An excerpt from "Butterfly Boy:"
As much as I tried to calm myself and focus on the peaceful environs of the garden, every time I closed my eyes I was flooded with violent images of cold-blooded beasts with bared fangs dripping blood. I kept remembering the nightmare I’d had, but my memories were more terrifying than the dream had been. Even as I sat in the lightly shaded garden on a hot summer day, chills wracked my body.
My unpleasant meditations were disrupted when something landed on my toes. I looked down at my sandals and saw my toes were covered over with a bright red flying disc. I looked around, but the thrower was nowhere to be seen.
I heard him before I saw him; he came in through the back gate and up behind me. I turned to see his approach. He wore long, red basketball shorts, a white t-shirt soaked in sweat, and a red headband holding back his heavily gelled, spiky black hair. Though he was dressed like a teen, he was at least my age, twenty-four.
“Hey, have you seen my flying disc?” he asked me. I picked it up and held it up for him to see. “Thanks,” he said as I handed it back to him.
“I didn’t think anyone else was in the garden today,” I said. “I wouldn’t want my meditation to get in the way of your game of catch.”
He snorted slightly, catching the note of sarcasm. “Actually, my friends and I are playing in the park across the street. This one was a wild throw.”
“Wow,” I said. The disc must have flown at least sixty yards. “Nice arm.” He did have nice arms, with thick, toned biceps. The sleeves of his shirt showed them off nicely; I couldn’t help but notice.
He shook his head. “Nah, I didn’t throw it. It was my friend Rick. I’m Jake, by the way.” He tucked the disc under his arm before offering me his hand.
“Lacey Burke,” I said as we shook.
“I’ve seen you around here before,” he said. “You like the Japanese garden, don’t you?”
“It’s my favorite place to meditate.”
“I know what you mean. The park’s my favorite place to kick back and catch some fresh air and sunshine, you know?”
“I’ve never noticed you before,” I said honestly.
He chuckled. “Well, since your focus is kinda scattered at the moment, and your meditation’s kinda ruined, want to play with my friends and me? We’re going to go get burgers in a while.”
I cocked my head. “Are you asking me out, Jake?”
He smiled. He had a nice smile. “I guess so, Lacey. Come on, I’ll introduce you to my friends.”
***
Please enjoy this fan video I made to Shonen Knife's "Butterfly Boy (F.I. Mix)."
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)