I have a whimsical list of music on my PG-13 blog today...
Darla M. Sands
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
I'm proud to promote a fellow Romance Diva!
Eden Bradley's story in the Smutketeers' Wasteland anthology, Book Three: THE BREEDER, is out now! Buy it now at MBAM or on Amazon!
In 2012, the world came to a grinding halt as radiation hit from a massive solar storm. Crops died, animals perished, cities fell and humans became little more than beasts themselves. Under the threat of starvation, civility was reduced to mere memory. Only the strongest men survived, and physically weaker women and children wasted to nothingness.
More than a century later, humanity struggles in the desert Wasteland that was left. The solar radiation rendered most women infertile, and the population dwindles more with each year that passes. Scattered up and down coasts, isolated cities eke out an existence from fishing, foraging and hunting for what little game remains. Outside the city walls, men face the threat of pirates and raiders.
Few women remain, divided into four classes—Wanderers, Whores, Breeders and Priestesses. They are as reviled as they are worshiped, a commodity any man must pay to touch.
There is only one rule in the Wasteland—survive.
Book One: THE WANDERER — Crystal Jordan, May 4, 2010
Book Two: THE WHORE — Lilli Feisty, May 11, 2010
Book Three: THE BREEDER — Eden Bradley, May 18, 2010
Book Four: THE PRIESTESS — R.G. Alexander, May 25, 2010
THE BREEDER, Book Three in the Wasteland Series
Destined to serve the desires of an entire city, all she wants is one man. Or maybe two…
Wasteland, Book 3
Born to the Temple, Nitara knows the Great Goddess’s plan for her: to bring life into what is left of an arid and wasted Earth. Since puberty she has been trained to arouse and titillate, to ensure the continuation of the human race.
As is the custom, the man captured for her is strong of blood, though considered little more than a wild animal. Yet when she looks into his eyes, she sees no primitive creature, but the man whose face and hands haunt her sensual dreams.
For Akaash, a hunter and warrior, it’s his shame that he will be sacrificed to a goddess he doesn’t believe in, for a people who are not his own, leaving behind his Wanderer clan—and his bonded lover, Dhatri. Locked in the bowels of the Temple, he has a month to ponder his fate, all while falling helplessly under the spell of the virgin temptress who will soon take his life.
With each tortuously erotic encounter, however, Akaash realizes that Nitara is as much a prisoner as he. If he can just get a message out to Dhatri, there may be a slim chance both of them can escape…
* * *
You can find the entire Wasteland series at Samhain, and you can buy THE BREEDER there, or on Amazon! And visit the Smutketeers blog for excerpts, contests and more!
In 2012, the world came to a grinding halt as radiation hit from a massive solar storm. Crops died, animals perished, cities fell and humans became little more than beasts themselves. Under the threat of starvation, civility was reduced to mere memory. Only the strongest men survived, and physically weaker women and children wasted to nothingness.
More than a century later, humanity struggles in the desert Wasteland that was left. The solar radiation rendered most women infertile, and the population dwindles more with each year that passes. Scattered up and down coasts, isolated cities eke out an existence from fishing, foraging and hunting for what little game remains. Outside the city walls, men face the threat of pirates and raiders.
Few women remain, divided into four classes—Wanderers, Whores, Breeders and Priestesses. They are as reviled as they are worshiped, a commodity any man must pay to touch.
There is only one rule in the Wasteland—survive.
Book One: THE WANDERER — Crystal Jordan, May 4, 2010
Book Two: THE WHORE — Lilli Feisty, May 11, 2010
Book Three: THE BREEDER — Eden Bradley, May 18, 2010
Book Four: THE PRIESTESS — R.G. Alexander, May 25, 2010
THE BREEDER, Book Three in the Wasteland Series
Destined to serve the desires of an entire city, all she wants is one man. Or maybe two…
Wasteland, Book 3
Born to the Temple, Nitara knows the Great Goddess’s plan for her: to bring life into what is left of an arid and wasted Earth. Since puberty she has been trained to arouse and titillate, to ensure the continuation of the human race.
As is the custom, the man captured for her is strong of blood, though considered little more than a wild animal. Yet when she looks into his eyes, she sees no primitive creature, but the man whose face and hands haunt her sensual dreams.
For Akaash, a hunter and warrior, it’s his shame that he will be sacrificed to a goddess he doesn’t believe in, for a people who are not his own, leaving behind his Wanderer clan—and his bonded lover, Dhatri. Locked in the bowels of the Temple, he has a month to ponder his fate, all while falling helplessly under the spell of the virgin temptress who will soon take his life.
With each tortuously erotic encounter, however, Akaash realizes that Nitara is as much a prisoner as he. If he can just get a message out to Dhatri, there may be a slim chance both of them can escape…
* * *
You can find the entire Wasteland series at Samhain, and you can buy THE BREEDER there, or on Amazon! And visit the Smutketeers blog for excerpts, contests and more!
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Happy Tuesday!
Today is mine for posting on my group's blog. Come on over for a bit of rambling and a book review...
Neuroses in Little Japan
Neuroses in Little Japan
Sunday, May 16, 2010
One Line Wonders
These pithy quotes might come from a book, a movie, or even one of my story tidbits that I'm daring enough to humbly share. Today's is from a great piece of sci fi fiction:
"..Pete and Leo never could agree about nothing, not even how to die."
- Mel Keegan's "Narc 3: Scorpio"
The NARC series (Narcotics and Riot Control) is comprised of compelling futuristic stories featuring a great gay couple of iconic status. Stone and Kevin Jarrat have a relationship that is to die for, and jobs that might take that next turn for them. I highly recommend the series.
"..Pete and Leo never could agree about nothing, not even how to die."
- Mel Keegan's "Narc 3: Scorpio"
The NARC series (Narcotics and Riot Control) is comprised of compelling futuristic stories featuring a great gay couple of iconic status. Stone and Kevin Jarrat have a relationship that is to die for, and jobs that might take that next turn for them. I highly recommend the series.
Friday, May 14, 2010
I'm published!
Granted, my e-book is freely available for downloads, but it was given away prior and therefore, I feel, unethical for me to attempt selling. And it's for a good cause, to promote traffic on Mel Keegan's wiki site, The GLBT Bookshelf! The man kindly put together my humble story with a beautiful cover by Jade. If you're interested in great, gay oriented fiction, come on over for some great titles! Please stop by and support our various artists:
Free Gay Reads
Below you'll find an excerpt. First, I need to rectify an error. I neglected to credit any of the wonderful folks who aid and inspire my writing. Special thanks to Dilo Keith, A. Catherine Noon, Nikki Memmott, Evilynne, and Myladymystere! You've all improved my writing (any and all shortcomings are mine alone). For anyone not listed, please forgive my need for brevity!
Now, meet Michael Blanc, Corporate Stress Reliever by trade and optimist by choice. He knows all too well that life can throw rotten fruit in your face. In 2186, Michael makes the most of just desserts. Employed as confidante and lover to those that make up the whipped cream topping on that big apple pie, New York, New York, Michael has survived the whipping and now nibbles a nice, big slice of the pie.
Excerpt from "Memoirs of a Corporate Stress Reliever":
“Dance.”
I can do that. At a convenient drum beat I throw back my shoulders. Stiffened arms let the bolero glide off. Curled fingers catch the inner seam of the left lapel, saving that article from the floor.
So, he wants me to keep the hat, normally the first thing tossed. Most guys go gaga over my hair. Mr. X likes hats. I like Mr. X. Ergo, the cover stays on my head.
Stepping back from his spot on the mattress gives me the necessary room. Spinning a three-quarter turn to my right, I drape the jacket over my far shoulder and swivel my head down. The only part of unclothed skin visible to him is my chin and lips, which I lick. I hear his moan below the music.
I turn to fling the jacket onto a corner chair and, facing the far wall, fold in half with one hand handing my cap in place to blow him a kiss from between my calves. I straighten, rolling my spine in a wave that only ends when I stare at the ceiling. I shiver plainly for his witness and drop my gaze straight to the wall once more.
Whirling 180 degrees, I stop on a dime and try not to gawk. There’s a line of naked skin showing almost to his groin, the expensive robe gapped. Swallowing hard, I grind my hips against empty air, leather-clad fingers unbuttoning my shirt. Lower body never still, I kick off my shoes and dance on bare feet.
I’m breathing heavy enough to pant and it’s not from exertion, my body too conditioned. What takes my wind is the memory of things he’s done with this body – things he’ll soon repeat.
“Stop.”
I’ve pulled my shirttail out and undone the first button of my fly. I stop, chest and stomach heaving, though there is no perspiration on my skin. The auto-climate directs a cooling flow of air upon me.
“Room,” he addresses the monitor AI. “Auto-air off. Authorization code 59784.”
The breeze ended, moisture instantaneously beads my breast. Smirking, he tells me to begin again.
“I want to lick the sweat off that beautiful body. Keep your shirt. Get rid of the pants.”
Once they’re on the rug out of my way, I reach inside my shirt. He knows I’m pinching the nipple but the miniscule teat is so hard that it can’t engorge beyond what the first touch of leather finds. I raise my face and close my eyes, other hand tugging the curls down my neck.
I’m goading him into touching me himself. I give him bedroom eyes and wet my upper lip. He’s so on edge I can virtually feel those hands and mouth on me in anticipation.
Mr. X rises quickly, his robe billowing behind him. He’s upon me, somehow losing that wrap between the bed and where I stand. The fabric collapses on the floor to be forgotten. Gripping my waist is a gentle but firm hand. I am irrefutably his.
He yanks the shirt off one shoulder and slicks his palm across my drenched pectorals. I watch breathlessly. A wide, soft mouth finds one rosy nub. I don’t need cosmetics for color there. It’s plain, tingling flesh he suckles.
His touch finds my silk briefs. The loose outer layer feels like liquid over the skin-tight lining of stretchable cotton. He comments on it, squeezing my ass.
“Are these new? Nice.”
I’m glad he doesn’t expect an answer. He laughs softly, a pure and happy sound over his impact upon my faculties. The front panel of the custom underwear is no longer slack, my erection straining to get out. His hands haven’t even brushed over my loins. It’s obvious I could not withstand much.
“It’s been too long. Let’s make up for lost time.”
I hope this whets your appetite. A less steamy snippet is up on my Darla M. Sands blog. Happy reading!
Free Gay Reads
Below you'll find an excerpt. First, I need to rectify an error. I neglected to credit any of the wonderful folks who aid and inspire my writing. Special thanks to Dilo Keith, A. Catherine Noon, Nikki Memmott, Evilynne, and Myladymystere! You've all improved my writing (any and all shortcomings are mine alone). For anyone not listed, please forgive my need for brevity!
Now, meet Michael Blanc, Corporate Stress Reliever by trade and optimist by choice. He knows all too well that life can throw rotten fruit in your face. In 2186, Michael makes the most of just desserts. Employed as confidante and lover to those that make up the whipped cream topping on that big apple pie, New York, New York, Michael has survived the whipping and now nibbles a nice, big slice of the pie.
Excerpt from "Memoirs of a Corporate Stress Reliever":
“Dance.”
I can do that. At a convenient drum beat I throw back my shoulders. Stiffened arms let the bolero glide off. Curled fingers catch the inner seam of the left lapel, saving that article from the floor.
So, he wants me to keep the hat, normally the first thing tossed. Most guys go gaga over my hair. Mr. X likes hats. I like Mr. X. Ergo, the cover stays on my head.
Stepping back from his spot on the mattress gives me the necessary room. Spinning a three-quarter turn to my right, I drape the jacket over my far shoulder and swivel my head down. The only part of unclothed skin visible to him is my chin and lips, which I lick. I hear his moan below the music.
I turn to fling the jacket onto a corner chair and, facing the far wall, fold in half with one hand handing my cap in place to blow him a kiss from between my calves. I straighten, rolling my spine in a wave that only ends when I stare at the ceiling. I shiver plainly for his witness and drop my gaze straight to the wall once more.
Whirling 180 degrees, I stop on a dime and try not to gawk. There’s a line of naked skin showing almost to his groin, the expensive robe gapped. Swallowing hard, I grind my hips against empty air, leather-clad fingers unbuttoning my shirt. Lower body never still, I kick off my shoes and dance on bare feet.
I’m breathing heavy enough to pant and it’s not from exertion, my body too conditioned. What takes my wind is the memory of things he’s done with this body – things he’ll soon repeat.
“Stop.”
I’ve pulled my shirttail out and undone the first button of my fly. I stop, chest and stomach heaving, though there is no perspiration on my skin. The auto-climate directs a cooling flow of air upon me.
“Room,” he addresses the monitor AI. “Auto-air off. Authorization code 59784.”
The breeze ended, moisture instantaneously beads my breast. Smirking, he tells me to begin again.
“I want to lick the sweat off that beautiful body. Keep your shirt. Get rid of the pants.”
Once they’re on the rug out of my way, I reach inside my shirt. He knows I’m pinching the nipple but the miniscule teat is so hard that it can’t engorge beyond what the first touch of leather finds. I raise my face and close my eyes, other hand tugging the curls down my neck.
I’m goading him into touching me himself. I give him bedroom eyes and wet my upper lip. He’s so on edge I can virtually feel those hands and mouth on me in anticipation.
Mr. X rises quickly, his robe billowing behind him. He’s upon me, somehow losing that wrap between the bed and where I stand. The fabric collapses on the floor to be forgotten. Gripping my waist is a gentle but firm hand. I am irrefutably his.
He yanks the shirt off one shoulder and slicks his palm across my drenched pectorals. I watch breathlessly. A wide, soft mouth finds one rosy nub. I don’t need cosmetics for color there. It’s plain, tingling flesh he suckles.
His touch finds my silk briefs. The loose outer layer feels like liquid over the skin-tight lining of stretchable cotton. He comments on it, squeezing my ass.
“Are these new? Nice.”
I’m glad he doesn’t expect an answer. He laughs softly, a pure and happy sound over his impact upon my faculties. The front panel of the custom underwear is no longer slack, my erection straining to get out. His hands haven’t even brushed over my loins. It’s obvious I could not withstand much.
“It’s been too long. Let’s make up for lost time.”
I hope this whets your appetite. A less steamy snippet is up on my Darla M. Sands blog. Happy reading!
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Thursday Thirteen ~ The Joys of Writing
Thirteen Reasons I Write
1. Escapism – better than movies and even books, internal fantasies can be visited virtually anywhere and anytime; I carry pen and paper whenever possible
2. Characters –protagonists drive my plots, taking on a life of his or her own in the process, and are often my company of choice
3. World Building – while lately discovering the joy of alien peoples and places, I find that generating any sort of alternate reality is immensely rewarding
4. Research – obviously educational, typically entertaining, this frequently plants the seed for new ideas as an added side benefit
5. Sex – I wrote erotica in my journals before ever having heard the term; later, rediscovering vivid tell of youthful exploits inspired my creative writing and this is still my favorite subject
6. Liaisons – it's imperative to add how daydreaming sexual encounters never gets old and those I will never experience (for whatever reason) provide especially compelling challenges
7. Travel – a journey into prose shows me wondrous sights without the stress and expense of an actual vacation
8. Memories – it’s amazing what experiences I recall, savoring some before truth is spun to weave fact into fiction
9. Kodak Moments – reading what I’ve composed about an incident, real or pretend, stimulates a more intense response than the majority of photographs (inspirational images are like the icing on the cake)
10. Limitless – sorry to sound cliché, but my unbound consciousness soars during the process of storytelling
11. Music – unlike cinema and television, my second favorite activity happens to be extremely compatible with this great passion, which brings to mind the next item
12. Passion – I can explore the most desirous or debased emotions known to humankind, all confined within my relatively harmless psyche
13. Sanity – it’s cheaper than therapy and a heck of a lot more fun
1. Escapism – better than movies and even books, internal fantasies can be visited virtually anywhere and anytime; I carry pen and paper whenever possible
2. Characters –protagonists drive my plots, taking on a life of his or her own in the process, and are often my company of choice
3. World Building – while lately discovering the joy of alien peoples and places, I find that generating any sort of alternate reality is immensely rewarding
4. Research – obviously educational, typically entertaining, this frequently plants the seed for new ideas as an added side benefit
5. Sex – I wrote erotica in my journals before ever having heard the term; later, rediscovering vivid tell of youthful exploits inspired my creative writing and this is still my favorite subject
6. Liaisons – it's imperative to add how daydreaming sexual encounters never gets old and those I will never experience (for whatever reason) provide especially compelling challenges
7. Travel – a journey into prose shows me wondrous sights without the stress and expense of an actual vacation
8. Memories – it’s amazing what experiences I recall, savoring some before truth is spun to weave fact into fiction
9. Kodak Moments – reading what I’ve composed about an incident, real or pretend, stimulates a more intense response than the majority of photographs (inspirational images are like the icing on the cake)
10. Limitless – sorry to sound cliché, but my unbound consciousness soars during the process of storytelling
11. Music – unlike cinema and television, my second favorite activity happens to be extremely compatible with this great passion, which brings to mind the next item
12. Passion – I can explore the most desirous or debased emotions known to humankind, all confined within my relatively harmless psyche
13. Sanity – it’s cheaper than therapy and a heck of a lot more fun
Friday, May 7, 2010
Friday Funny
In place of a ficlet piece, I decided to share a laugh. Be warned that I'm notorious for being way behind the curve on jokes. Hence, this might be really old and I just don't have a clue. Since I won't see you rolling your eyes if this joke is actually older than the internet, here goes...
A husband and wife were watching a television program about psychology. As an aside, he mentioned that he didn't believe in so-called "mixed emotions". She offered to prove the existence and he agreed.
"I can tell you something that will make you both the happiest and the saddest you've ever felt in your life."
"All right," he agreed, "give it a shot."
"You have a bigger penis than every single one of your friends."
A husband and wife were watching a television program about psychology. As an aside, he mentioned that he didn't believe in so-called "mixed emotions". She offered to prove the existence and he agreed.
"I can tell you something that will make you both the happiest and the saddest you've ever felt in your life."
"All right," he agreed, "give it a shot."
"You have a bigger penis than every single one of your friends."
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