Almost there…..

the Tutelage - cover option-01


It’s a relative expression I suppose. I’ve completed reviewing and correcting 27 pages of “the Tutelage of Vinita Forthcutter”….but it’s 27 pages out of 73.


So I have a ways to go.


If work is slow today, I’ll make time and try to finish another 20 pages. Who knows, maybe I’ll have it in a state worthy of publishing by the weekend. Fingers crossed?

After that it’s on to write something new, and perhaps create a compilation book of short stories.


Till next time my loves,




Oh am I ever in a mood…

08 09 2012 017

The last two days at work have been incredibly slow. This is the tendency in the business I work in. November slows down, and December is nearly stationary. It gives me time, perhaps too much time, to let my mind wander.

I find myself sitting at my desk; all of my work for the day completed before 9am, and I’m in a mood.

You know the mood….the one where you feel like holding onto someone. Hugging and kissing; watching sappy romantic movies, smiling for no reason….just that sort of mood.

I’ve set my downloader to retrieve movies like “Lie with me” and “Kama Sutra”; setting myself up for further ‘moods’ as the long slow days become more frequent.

This is definitely the mood I should be writing in; but I’ve promised myself that I’ll proofread, rewrite, and shore up “Tutelage” before I write anything new.


….unless someone offers to do that for me?




A small update; drivel really…read at your own ire

So my broken hand is a little less broken of late. I recently had the pins pulled out which in of itself is a complete bizarre and surreal experience. Seeing two four inch hooked needles being pulled and twisted out of your own body while you look on with inescapable curiosity is certainly a memory worth remembering. I kept them. The needles that is. They’re in a small baggy in one of the miscellaneous drawers in my kitchen. I honestly have no clue what I’ll do with them but it feels as if I should keep them…though I can’t really say why.

It’s only been a few days since the pins were pulled and because of my lack of patience I’ve already been hard at rehabilitation before being sanctioned to do so by my occupational therapist. Honestly though, I think she’s holding me back; treating me as if I’m some frail octogenarian with brittle bones and an inability to walk with out falling into things. A day after the pins were removed, I couldn’t move my last two fingers. This is a very frustrating thing. But after a few hours of painful self massage I have regained at least a little range of motion. The hardest part will be to break down the scar tissue as soon as possible and allow full range of motion once again. After that I will be able to start to strengthen my grip.

It’s been frustrating to say the least. I can’t imagine people having to deal with these sorts of difficulties on a more permanent basis. I feel like I’m a bit of a whiner compared to them, so for the most part I’ve kept my only complaints to this blog.

Ah…and this blog…what has become of it?

I had a plan…and that plan was simple and obvious. I would write short stories as I continued to write a novel length story. Picking away; working diligently to get better at my hobby.

Well it seems I’ve been negligent. I stopped posting new stories because, well, I hadn’t written any. The words and impulses that were pushing through me shuddering down through my fingers simply bled away to nothing. I felt no great interest in writing in the last three or four months; or perhaps I was just burnt out with my own self imposed schedule. I’m not sure. (forgive me I’m rambling)

I do miss it though. Truly.

I miss writing down the filth and eroticism that oozes in the ether of my mind and then receiving your feedback as to how it made you feel. I imagine great gobs of giddy women (and men) excited by each new sentence, each new thought on the way to a tumultuous crescendo. I imagine my readers closing there eyes at points, imagining each scene I describe, dreaming themselves within it, feeling their way over their body in anxious frustration wishing for a release.


…oh and the release.

When my characters climax….my readers climax….they both breath heavy…deep…. forceful breaths…as if connected beyond this world and into the world I’ve created for them. Linked despite distance, time, and reality. A shared experience that binds the real and imagined together.

I enjoy that thought immensely.

The thoughts from my brain becoming real and residing within the dreams of yours. The orgasms of my readers linked to the fiction on the page. Simply delicious.

…I think I’ve just reinvigorated my interest in writing.


…stay tuned my loves. I will be back soon with what you need.




My biggest seller…

Strangers on a Train-01

For whatever reason my short story, “Strangers on a Train” is consistently my highest seller. I suppose I should be happy though. I am proud of all my published stories, but being that ‘Strangers’ was my latest to be published it seems to me that it may mean I’ve been getting better.

Going forward I plan on publishing ‘Tutelage’ after I go through review it and tightening up the writing. After that I’ve been asked to create a compilation of short stories. I’m excited to take these challenges on.

If you’re interested in joining the growing masses and purchase “Strangers on a Train” you can get it from here for $1.

Thanks to all my fans that have made me feel so blessed.


Have a great week my loves,


Dilemmas of the Reluctantly Diabolical

First and foremost I apologize for the likelihood that the following entry maybe filled with spelling mistakes, poor word selection and exasperatingly long run on sentences. It’s my broken hand that has kept me up for nearly 36hrs straight. This same broken hand ensures that typing is an aggravating task. As such I’m writing this on my phone with my still capable and fully functioning thumbs. Horray for evolution and opposable digits.

Anyway to the meat of this post.

It involved my muse. My first muse. Just like first loves they’re hard to follow. I find myself reminiscing and daydreaming about her quite often. She used to work with me you see. Not so much with me but near me. She was the sultry secretary to my straight laced office peon. Till the moment we discovered we were two sex crazed hell spawn that seemingly oozed out of the same fire pit.

Time passed and she and I were close. The needs of the business changed and she, much to my dismay, was laid off. She got another job shortly after and while we did stay in contact the communication was sparse at best and non existent at worst.

I had made efforts of late to rectify that. Sending her clips of stories I was writing to entice her, catching up with her love life and seeing how her son was doing. All the sorts of things a good friend may do. However the demon inside of me ever clawing the inside of my mind. Reminding me how much I desired her. How good she smelt. How gorgeous her auburn eyes were as she slyly sucked on a Starbucks frappaccino. Double blended extra drizzle. Delicious.

It was a repeat of all my female interactions in highschool. Ever the good guy being the good friend to the beautiful unwitting object of my unnatural desire. What would they think of me if they had known the intricate and intoxicating fantasies my friends had been a part of. Now how many years later I find myself in the same position.

Her relationship that was rocky when we worked together is now completely dismantled. The guy she was with, her nicest and most attentive to date, has reverted to utter douchbaggery. The latest saga being that he weaseled his way into the apartment they used to share and take all the items purchased when they were together. The most vile of these was her sons bed. Who takes a child’s bed while he’s at school and his mom is at work? Utter douchbaggery.

So what is my dilemma you may ask? My dilemma is that I know quite well she is in a weak and fragile state. I know I could swoop in and pluck her from this condition and devour her in a selfish rage. I could take care of her need to vent while taking care of my pent up need to ravage her. I know what to say and what to do to get her to do what I need. Yet here I am at home. Insomnia now has taken hold and clear thoughts of right and wrong have been replaced with muddied deviousness.

I sigh to myself right now and wonder of the douch bags of the world have such dilemmas. Do they stay up late thinking about the consequences of their actions only to ignore them. Or are they “blessed” with ignorance of their selfishness.

She’s a sweet woman. She’s fucked up just like me. I love her in my own way.

…but damn do I want to make love to her in my own way.


Not dead…

…just resting.

So I haven’t posted a story in quite a while. In truth I haven’t been writing so much lately. My professional life got quite a bit busier in the summer months as is the norm for it and this really translated into a gap of time where I didn’t have immense volumes of writing to accomplish.

For that I’m sorry.

I realize that it likely has disappointed and alienated some of my regular readers.

In addition to the lack of time to write I’ve given myself a handicap in the form of a broken hand. My dominant hand too. It makes doing any sort of typing extremely tedious. This post for example has been written on my phone and as such subjected to the bizarre autocorrect choices when my thumbs don’t appear to connect the correct letters.

At any rate I really would like to get back to writing again and what I may do is write some smaller quick pieces instead of the long verbose ones I tend to rattle off.

Till then, take care.