Wednesday, February 27, 2013


Cliff did kiss her when she came in. He kissed her and smiled and she could feel his love around her as warm and real as his arms. Now, in the bedroom, everything is different.

She's disheveled. He's been playing rough, pushing her down on the bed, squeezing her breasts hard, pulling her shirt open and her panties down. She's panting and flushed. He's smiling a friendly smile, but his eyes are cold.

"Your pussy is soaking, Penny. You like be thrown on the bed and used, don't you." His fingers moved caressingly over her aching cunt. She nodded her agreement. Yes, she did like it.

His thumb found her clit and pressed. Pleasure burned through her, melting and inflaming in equal measure.  "You're a little slut, Penny. You know that, don't you? Tell me what you are."

The cruel intensity of his voice scared her. She fixed her eyes on his. "I'm a little slut. I'm your little slut." His thumb began making small circles. Her body shook. "Please fuck me," she said. Fuck me, she thought. Love me. Come back to me. But she loved his harshness. She loved that he could transform his tenderness into such fury. "I need you to fuck me!" she cried, arching against his hand.

"Fuck you? I don't think so," he said. He slid one finger into her, making her gasp. "I don't want to get myself that dirty." His hand left her pussy to rub her wetness on her lips. She opened her mouth, wanting to suck his fingers, but he pulled them away and slapped her face instead. Her face stung with shame and impact.

"I Don't Fuck Whores," he said, enunciating every word. Tears came to her eyes. Was he truly mad at her? What had she done? "I Don't Fuck Whores, and you, my dear, are a whore."

He let his words sink in for a moment. "Not one of those high class courtesans you fawn over on Twitter. They make an honest living. You're the kind of whore that will sell herself for a cocktail and a smile. You're the kind of slut that will get in anybody's car if they promise you a hard cock. Won't you, Penny." All this time he was stroking and teasing her. She wiggled and whined and fought back tears.

"Please," she begged, "Please. Cliff, I only want you. I only want you to fuck me."

He slapped her again. "I already told you I'm not fucking your filthy little cunt. I've got other people to do that." She couldn't quite choke back a sob. Cliff lowered his voice. "I've got all the men in the neighborhood lined up in the hallway, waiting to fuck you, Penny. Won't you like that?"

"No! No, Cliff, I want you!" She tried to wrap her arms around him, but he peeled them off of himself as if her touch was distasteful.

"But they've been wanting you, Penny. Every time you go outside they can smell you. They can smell your dripping, horny cunt every time you walk by. They know what kind of slut you are."

His words were horrible. His eyes were terribly cold. He held her thrashing wrists down on the bed as if it were effortless. She didn't know if it was true, if there really were men in the hallway. It seemed possible. But her neighbors?

"Please don't make me," she begged, hoping to placate him. "Please don't, I'll do anything!"

Cliff laughed. "I already know that. You will do anything, won't you, pretty bird." Penny sobbed again. "Alright," Cliff said. "You don't have to be fucked by them if you are very, very good."

Penny nodded violently. "I'll be good!"

"I told them - I told Bart, he's first in line - " Penny pictured her next-door neighbor Bart: retired, diffident, devoted to his lawn. It was impossible that he might be in the hallway waiting to have his way with her. She started to relax a little. "I told Bart that when he hears you crying out in orgasm and begging to be fucked, he could come on in and have you. And then the rest of them, whenever they were ready."

"So I have to be quiet?" she asked. She knew this game. They'd played it before. Be Quiet When You Come Or.... She'd always lost.

Cliff smiled at her again. This time there was almost affection in his eyes. "Don't bother trying," he said. "We both know you can't." He shook his head as if bemused. "And Bart is sooo eager."

Penny laughed. It felt like play again, between them. Cliff grabbed her underwear and pulled them the rest of the way off with a flourish. She lifted her legs and he pulled her down to the end of the bed. He knelt on the floor. She closed her eyes. He buried his face in her folds.

Penny forgot everything but pleasure. She grunted when he thrust his fingers into her, keened when his teeth and tongue converged on her clit. Her hips found a desperate rhythm and soon she was wailing, as they'd both known she would, "Fuck me, oh please, fuck me, fuck me, fuck meeeeee!"

She didn't hear the door open, but Cliff's abrupt pulling away from her body made her open her eyes. There was Bart, in the doorway, grinning at her, his pants already unzipped and his cock in his hand.

Saturday, February 23, 2013

Stereotypical Avoidance Behavior.

I was going to try and go to bed at 10:30 every night so I could post here. But I ended up staying up later, as always. And oddly, G has started going to bed earlier. Which makes it hard to write. I prefer to be alone. strongly prefer. I won't say I HAVE to be alone - that would be silly, right? False?  But yeah, I won't write with company.

I don't like that he comes to bed early. It means it's my fault if we don't have sex, not his for staying up ridiculously late.

It's not that I don't want to ha have sex. Just not with him. Argh.

I belive this is a state of mind more than an absolute. I tell myself I'll overcome it. I have before. WE HAVE GOOD SEX. Sometimes.

I'm so fucking ambivalent. Like, I wish he'd go down on me more often. But I don't like him to unless I've just had a shower. And I tend to shower at odd hours, not before bed. So I never let him and then I complain that he doesn't really like to. Yeah, I know.

When CL goes down on me, I know it's for him as much as me. I know he likes the way I taste and smell. I say, "I just came from the gym, I'm stinky!" and he says, "I LOVE that."

I wish it were easy. I wish I could let it be easy.

Thursday, February 14, 2013


I've been blindsided. I'm feeling horribly, utterly betrayed. I didn't know real people actually acted like this. It's like I landed in a reality show instead of my life.

Here's where it all first went wrong: When I decided, a couple years ago, to try and fit in. I meant it as a growth opportunity. Accepting people with different values and priorities. Getting past that stuff, you know? But also being more like them. Letting their values influence mind. Making choices to let things go that might keep us from being friends.

We've never been friends. People who are friends don't treat each other like that. I should have seen it a long time ago. I'm blindsided because I let myself be blind.

Monday, February 11, 2013

Decision Point

I guess Complicated Lover was sick that night. Otherwise, would he really have gone home early, leaving me alone with the Beautiful Swinger? I imagine not.

I imagine him not leaving. "I've had enough games," I'd have said, as I did say. "Let's sit in the living room and have one more drink."

The Beautiful Swinger is easy to kiss. it happens naturally. You know how sometimes, the first time with someone new, there's escalating tension and indecision and you wonder whether now is the right moment, or now, or maybe now? There's none of that with BS. He's a pro at setting things in motion. His hugs always include a hand on your ass. Or my ass, anyway.

Point being, he's not surprised or uncomfortable when I kiss him as soon as he's sipped from his aforementioned last drink.  Complicated Lover, though, a few feet away on the other side of the L shaped couch, certainly is. He doesn't say anything as I lean over and kiss BS. He doesn't say anything as BS's hand comes up to cup my breast. (Another one of those moves that could be awkward but just seems sweetly natural from BS.) It's not until I straddle BS's lap that CL reacts. "Whoa, there," CL says, hopping up from his seat and steadying my hand. "You're going to lose your drink."

CL's hand is on my hand. He's standing behind me while I grind my body against BS, still kissing him. I feel the moment lengthen as CL realizes the position he's in, the choice he's made. And then he's down on his knees behind me, hands under my shirt, pulling me back against him and biting my neck, making me shiver and squirm and grin.

Wednesday, February 6, 2013

The Next Big Thing Blog Hop

What is a blog hop? Basically, it’s a way for readers to discover authors new to them. We hope you’ll find new-to-you authors whose works you enjoy. This hop-stop will show you a bit about me (Penny) and one of my work-in-progress book and links to some other authors you can explore.

Thanks to fellow author Raziel Moore, AKA Monocle, for inviting me to participate in this event. You can click the following link to learn more about his work:

In this hop, I and my fellow authors, in their respective blogs, have answered ten questions about our book or work-in–progress, giving you a sneak peek. There’s also some behind-the-scenes information about how and why we write what we write–the characters, inspirations, plotting and other choices we make.

Please feel free to comment and share your thoughts and questions. Here is my Next Big Thing!

1: What is the working title of your book?

Well, so, the funny thing is, I have a book in the works but it's not one I can share here. Or vs vs. I mean, I won't be sharing about this site as part of that book's publicity.

This blog is intended to be the "no self criticism, no hiding" place for me to write, generally shielded from the people who have some emotional investment in what I say and do. So when Raz invited me to participate, I was extremely flattered, but not at all sure how it might work.

I thought, though, I'd just imagine what kind of book it would be if I did write one here. I think I'd just call it: A Nest Made of Spittle.

2: Where did the idea come from for the book?
My mom called me. "Honey, I was cleaning out the basement, and I found a big box full of your diaries from high school. What do you want me to do with them?" Holy crap. I forgot about those. See, I have a long shelf or two here at my house already full of old journals. I used to number them, so they are shelved in chronological order. It's been so long since I looked at them - I forgot I was missing numbers 12 through 43.

Journaling was central to my life, as a teenager and into my 20s. Then I started blogging, and that filled the space. I went from filling a paper journal every few months to one every few years. More recently, I made my blogging public. Friends and family began reading my public blog, and when I write there I try to keep a high standard of a) craft and b) discretion. For the past couple of years, I've had no journal. And it was killing my writing.

So, here I am, hiding in the shadows again. Since I've started this blog, I've written more than I have in a long, long time - both here and in my regular writing spaces. My mind is free again and my excitement is back!

3. What genre does your book come under?

4: Which actors would you choose to play your characters in a movie rendition?
Camilla the Chicken and The Monkees.

5: What is the one-sentence synopsis of your book?
Sex-addled bird builds elaborate constructions to cope with her basic domesticity and nesting instinct.

6: Is your book self-published, published by an independent publisher, or represented by an agency? 
No, no, no, and no.

7: How long did it take you to write the first draft of your manuscript?
25 years.

8: What other books would you compare this story to within your genre?
Colette's younger sister's teenage diary.

9: Who or what inspired you to write this book?
Clearly, inspiration is not the right word. Narcissistic drive, perhaps.

10: What else about your book might pique the reader’s interest?
I apologize in advance for everything I might write here. I plan to be very, very bad.

Here are the next authors on the Hop, joining me by blogging next Wednesday. Be sure to bookmark and add them to your calendars for updates on Works in Progress and New Releases! Happy Writing and Reading!

Shon Richards, Don't let his relentless humor fool you into thinking his writing isn't hot, hot, hot.

Guy New York, His most recent release is The Island on the Edge of Normal. Strong stuff.

Saturday, February 2, 2013

A Message

It's thick, and a little too long. It hurts me, sometimes, when my cervix is low. I don't care. I've been deprived too long. Please fuck me with that incredible dick.

Never Test Someone.

Never test someone. This is a rule. You might wonder how long he will wait to call you if you don't call him first. You may wonder if she'll remember your birthday without a reminder. Don't fail to mention your new haircut and then wait for him to notice.

Don't test your romantic someone for evidence of interest. I tell myself this frequently.

You might find out he never calls at all. Better just... call him before you're so angry and anxious your next conversation turns into an explosion.

That's one reason.

The reason I focus on, though, is that these tests are not a good indicator of affection. There are people I mean to call every day but don't. I'm terrible at birthdays and haircuts. I forget to ask after sick pets and family members. Why would I expect anyone else to do better?