Wednesday, 26 February 2014

Blues Buster Dogs of Lust wk50 Lust

After last weeks' second place, I thought I'd give Jeff Tsuruoka's Mid Week Blues Buster over at The Tsuruoka Files another try. This week, a song by The The called Dogs of Lust. To listen, click the link. x here.


It had been eight weeks since Jay had his heart crushed. He thought he was over the worst but as the days grew longer and the mercury rose, Jay was reminded of sultry days on the beach. When he closed his eyes, he could see her glowing, bronzed skin shimmering in the sun, smelling of coconut and looking good enough to eat.
     Even when Jay was awake, he saw Emma everywhere, in the coffee she drank to the waft of her perfume as he walked down the street.
   The one place he didn’t expect to see her was at the back street bar as he sank his third bottle of beer, trying to celebrate his birthday with friends.
      His pulse raced.
      His mouth became instantly dry.
      The ice cold bottle of beer warmed quickly in his sweaty hand.
      “Is that Emma?” Gary asked.
       Jay couldn’t speak, unable to lift his gaze from Emma as she sauntered onto the stage. Her long blonde hair tucked up into a dark, bobbed wig; it suited her, bringing out the dark pools of her eyes. Her lips were plump, glossy and waiting to be kissed. He remembered vividly kissing those lips, as they smiled back at the audience. He could see her tasteful rose tattoo just at the base of her back. He remembered how he caressed that tattoo with his lips as she moaned under him. Now she was showing off that tattoo to complete strangers as she wrapped her legs around the pole, throwing her head back.       
     She licked her lips with the tip of her tongue. Jay groaned, remembering being on the end of that tongue.
    Even when her eyes fell on Jay, she kept smiling, not thrown for a second. In fact Jay was sure she tried even harder as she faced the crowd and slid down the pole, thrusting her legs wide open, before crawling towards the audience, and Jay, on all fours.   
        Jay felt a tightening in his jeans. He knew she was agile and supple but he’d never seen her do the splits. She was oozing sex, the sexiest thing he had ever seen  . . . and tonight he wanted her.
       Always wanted her.
       She knew it.
       Jay was hot. The sweat dripped down his back. His jeans skintight, stuck to his thighs. He ignored his friends as they tried to talk with him, trying to ignore Emma. They walked away, feeling uncomfortable watching their mate’s ex girlfriend writhe in front of them wearing next to nothing. But Jay sat, intoxicated, knowing how she used to respond to his touch, as he gently stroked her soft contours.
     He groaned, running a hand through his hair, not knowing what to do with himself.
   The music stopped and the crowd cheered. She bowed, which raised more cheers due to her skimpy bra, before running back stage. Moments later, her blonde hair flowing down her back, Emma appeared, fully clothed. She walked towards Jay. He wanted to reach out to her, glide his fingers down her tanned arm, wanted her completely.
      He couldn’t stand.
      He tried adjusting himself. She smiled. It was the acknowledgement Jay needed. Just a drink . . . a lingering kiss. . .
     She carried on walking to the guy behind the bar where he kissed those lips.
     Jay left his beer, needing fresh air. The night was still. Enveloped in lust, Jay walked home alone wondering how he would ever forget Emma.  



Wednesday, 19 February 2014

Mid Week Blues Buster Images of heaven

A backdrop of thick, grey cloud cast a dark shadow  over the run-down building and Oliver shivered, checking the address scrawled in his notebook. It was right. He gingerly pushed open the peeling wooden door, afraid it would fall off its hinges but wasn’t prepared for the splendour within. His eyes trailed up the grand, wooden staircase, following the smooth curves until they fell onto the ruby red gown. He couldn’t help but linger on the creamy flesh of slim leg through the split . . . a long split . . . past the knee . . .  up to her thigh.
      “You found it then?” Her sultry voice swathed Oliver in silk. He gazed up to her sun-kissed face, unable to speak. “Come,” she offered extending a delicate hand.
    Oliver climbed the thick carpeted stairs, unable to avert his gaze from her sapphire eyes. He found himself in a bedroom, where sunlight flooded through floor to ceiling windows, casting a natural glow on her beautiful skin, making artificial lighting redundant.  She draped herself across the billowing, snowy white covers of the bed. Fumbling with equipment, Oliver’s hands trembled.
     “Everything OK?” she asked in a breathy voice.
    “Yeah, good, just getting ready. You said these photos are for someone special?”
     “ Yes. Aren’t all photos special?” she purred.
     “Of course. Shall we begin?” Oliver immersed himself in his art which was easy when the muse was so beautiful. He didn’t imagine her penetrating stare, her flirtatious manner, teasing him, drawing him in. He was helpless, like a moth seeking the light. She was the light he fell into with heart, body and soul.
   It took time for sleep to slip away. He tried to adjust to his surroundings but it was dark. Footsteps lingered close. He smiled. A beam of light shone through the door before it burst open. Oliver shielded his eyes from the intrusion.
   “OK, Romeo, get your things and clear off,” the gruff voice said. Oliver found himself naked, lying on a shabby mattress in a squat.
  “But I was with a woman. Where is she? Where am I?”
   “Yeah, I know the type of woman you were with, do anything for a fix, steals your wallet. You’re in a condemned building, trespassing I might add.”  
    “But the staircase, the windows,” blustered Oliver, pulling on his trousers, “the bed.”
     “Must have been some trip,” the guard replied, watching Oliver pick up his camera and bag.” You’re lucky she never stole that.”
     “Trip? I wasn’t on anything! I was invited here for a photo shoot.” Full of exasperation, Oliver glanced round, seeing discarded needles, rusty teaspoons, a rat scurrying into a dark corner. He shuddered, feeling the cold as the hairs on the back of his neck bristled.
      “Yeah, I’m sure she was a supermodel,” he offered, dripping with sarcasm.
       “She was more than that, a classic beauty! She lived here.” The stairs creaked with every step, no carpet and Oliver was careful to avoid holes. Once outside, Oliver looked back at the building, just as it was when he arrived. His head ached, his mouth felt full of sawdust. The guard walked away. Oliver ran over the events. He wasn’t drugged. He’d taken nothing, only her, repeatedly. He could smell her perfume, see the contours of her body, the gentle curls of platinum hair tumbling across her eyes, so easy to love, to photograph.     
       “No! wait!” Oliver shouted, running through puddles. “I have proof.” The guard stopped as Oliver reached for his camera. “Look! I’m not lying!”
       “I’m sure whatever went on in there was mind blowing but you’re this close to me calling the police.”
       “No, look.” Oliver stared through the viewfinder, scrolling through the photos as the guard looked on impatiently. Every frame showed the same thing, an empty room with a stained, threadbare mattress. “I don’t understand. She was there. She was real!”
    “Go home!”  
    Hollowness engulfed Oliver. He knew it happened, could still feel her touch on his skin, the heat of her body. He trudged away, hearing her wispy voice behind him. He spun round, but was alone, her breathless laugh echoing in his mind, never to leave him.


Written for  Jeff Tsuruoka's Mid Week Blues Buster over at The Tsuruoka Files.

Here's the 80's tune by Peter Godwin.


Tuesday, 18 February 2014

Anniversary Blog Some Things Never Change

Happy Birthday to me! Happy Birthday to me! It’s been two years since my first adventure into the blogging world. Two years since I stumbled into flash fiction and made some amazing friends as I continue my journey as a writer.
But some things do not change. My first blog entry was about a trip to Croydon on Valentine’s Day to see a special friend. It was such a disastrous journey, I had to write about it. Since that Valentine's, every trip to Croydon has been  taken by train after I vowed never to drive there again . . .Until New Year's Day this year.
New Year's Day would be quiet, the car that died on me on that Valentine’s night has been replaced.  What could possibly go wrong?
Enter teenage son and his idea of a chilled night with friends. At our house. I even managed to talk Hubby into it. Never again.
They kept us up all night with their chit chat, movies, laughter. Eventually, all was quiet as they buggered off to McDonald's for breakfast. Far too early of course,  but I didn’t tell them that as I wanted sleep.
The next thing I heard was hubby asking what time I’m leaving for Croydon. I wanted to be there for 10. It was now 10.30. My phone had a string of texts, asking what time I was arriving. I sleepily said 11, knowing any later, I wouldn’t go.
Easy peasy. half an hour to get ready. No problem. A quick shower, hair washed and dried, dressed  and ready to go bang on 11. It’s easy when there’s no slap involved or breakfast.
But the weather was awful. So much rain! But I persevered. Every now and then, I thought I’d turn round in the next available place but when I reached one, I carried on as it didn’t seem too bad. Famous last words.  .  .
After a lovely day with my friend, it was the dreaded drive home. Still, lashing down had it’s upside; no traffic. But the amount of water was incredible. Darkness descended quickly. And then I hit a queue of traffic. I couldn’t see what the hold up was. The traffic crept along slowly and then I saw it. I know I swore. I know I gripped the steering wheel for dear life. I had no other choice but to drive through the flood, like a lake across the road. It was seeing the breakdown van on the other side, rescuing a stranded motorist that I relaxed. He would save me. I watched the 4x4 go through, half up the curb. I waited until he cleared it then went, keeping a steady speed, chanting ‘Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God' continually, heart pounding wildly. I’d never driven through a flood before. And punched the air when I reached the other side. I was feeling epic!
The next obstacle was my imagination as I drove through a valley, looking up at the army of towering trees, standing guard. The news had been full of landslides, trees blown down; I’d driven past a few on my journey. Of course, there was nothing I could do if a tree did decide to fall at the time of my passing through but it didn't stop me looking up, making sure they didn’t move. I was terrifying myself. But so relieved I reached open space. Until the forest.
Puddles. Floods. Wind, stupid car drivers not knowing how to drive in floods who slowed right down, breaking?? I kept my distance from those people in their gorgeous, too good for them Mini.
And after an hour and a half, I was home. I was relieved. But I couldn’t wait to share my epic journey, surviving floods and gales (see how the wind is now a gale). I declared I could drive through anything. I was awesome!
Needless to say, I haven’t driven since. Other than my Hubby up the wall but that's another story entirely. xx


Monday, 17 February 2014

My Writing Process Blog Tour

So when Laura James over at Office Mango invited me to the Writing Process Blog Tour, I automatically said ‘yes’ not actually thinking about what I would have to produce about writing. Gulp! It’s hard enough thinking of the next line in a story let alone thinking how you go about it.
But Laura did  and her entertaining entry. And thanks Laura for the invite. xxx 

My Writing Process

What Am I Working On?

   I wish the answer to this was a simple “I’m working on X” but the reality is, I’m also working on Y and Z too. Writing is like reading. I have three books on the go that I am reading and like wise with my writing. Last year’s Nano novel, which suddenly came to a halt due to a dead laptop, has now found new love/life and a few late nights which is great considering this week is half term. It’s a paranormal romance with a kick ass heroine. That is all I’m going to say on that one.
   Some lovely friends Beta read my Chick lit which I am also in the process of editing. One day, when I feel confident about sharing it with the big, wide, world, I will publish on Amazon.
   My very first attempt of a novel is also being revisited on occasion when I can face it due to the many errors I can’t believe I made!
    And of course there’s my blog I am working on with flash fiction. Often, a short story is the spark to something bigger.

How Does My Work Differ from Others of its  Genre?   

   That’s tricky. I can only go by what I have read. And there is not enough time in the world to have read every book in the genres I write. I guess it’s unusual to write in different genres and not stick to one. Whether this is a decision that will hinder me or enhance my writing, I do not yet know. But I do know I write because I enjoy it, love the characters and know there is a story there. I also know my female protagonists are not just there to be eye candy or fluff. They have purpose, are fun and can definitely look after themselves no matter the genre.

Why Do I Write What I do?

I would like to say ‘because the fairies in the bottom of the garden told me to.’ But it’s a lot less boring than that. Like I said, I always wanted to write but didn’t know how to start. Then, two years ago, a funny thing happened that I just had to share and on Feb 18th (two years tomorrow) my blog was born. It was then I stumbled into flash fiction and this is where ideas grow for feature length pieces of work. Flash enables you to experiment and go places I never thought possible. Only last week, due to the prompt, I wrote my first piece of erotica (very tame). It was well received so I may (when brave enough) expand on it. If I love the characters and there’s a story, I will write it. My venture into the  paranormal was inspired by my son wanting me to write for him, not sure I have fulfilled that though as it’s gone bit gushy. So I will be culling very soon.

How Does Your Writing Process Work?   

Sometimes it doesn’t! It completely leaves me with a blank page for days. So I walk away and enjoy life (usually a walk along the beach, or baking) until something hits me and I can’t wait to get back and write it, noting it down in case I forget (which does happen).  But I tend to be a rather chaotic writer. Too many things going on, notes everywhere. If it comes into my head, I write it. So where my story goes depends on the mood I’m in, the music I’m listening to and something I may have heard either on TV or spoken to me. I have a main plot written down in various places (too many notebooks) but any sub plots are victim to the time, mood and place. I make it up as I go along I guess. If I’m really excited, I will talk it out with close friends which inspires me even more. Often, ideas come into my head during the night. But can I remember them in the morning? I can't be the only one that happens to. There's probably loads of best sellers that have been born and died during the night somewhere in the world.

Thank you for reading and thanks again Laura for the tag. Now I have some people who would like to share their writing process with you. Here’s a little tease until next week ( Monday 24th Feb) for their story. . .

Rebecca Fyfe

An author with stories in several anthologies and collections, is a mother of seven children and, having lost 145 lbs. of excess weight, blogs about health and fitness at In keeping with her lifetime love of stories, she graduated with a degree in English Literature. She is a Californian who married an Englishman and now resides in Great Britain. Rebecca created and runs the chapter book challenge which runs every March, and, when not writing short stories or children’s stories, she’s busy creating urban fantasy novels, full of her own special blend of magic. She gets her inspiration from her five daughters and two sons. She is the founder of Melusine Muse Press and owns several online gift shops, one of which can be found online at You can find her on facebook, Twitter and through her blog at Rebecca and at

M L Gammella 

M L Gammella has been writing on and off since hight school, where she was often found scribbling in her notebook instead of following along in class. Who knew you had to pay attention in Pre-Cal to understand it? To this day, she still doesn't. 
She put down her pen for several years as she got caught up with college and work, but finally found her muse again after graduating with a bachelors in business in 2010. Her day job as a mortgage laan processor pays the bills while she pursues her love of writing. M L Gammella is currently trying to finish her Nano novels from 2012 and 2013 (she won in 2012). She also participates i several flash fiction contests throughout the week, runs the Daily Picspiration blogspot., and freelances in content marketing. When not writing, M L enjoys travelling, football, cooking, reading and spending time with her husband and three pets.

Friday, 14 February 2014

Mid Week Blues Buster Betrayal

Maria waited over an hour at the backstreet motel for Jason but couldn’t wait any longer. Throwing the key on the counter, she walked out, wrapping her coat tight around her, shielding her from the sudden downpour.
The main street was deserted, the only sound the clipping of her heals.   
A car rumbled behind her, slowing down. The tinted window  slid down and Maria smiled, hiding her surprise at seeing her brother.  
      “What are you doing in this neighbourhood?” he asked.
      “Seeing a friend,” she replied, her story already prepared. If Carlos knew she was seeing Jason, he would flip. As head of the family, he decided on who she should date.She climbed in next to him.
       “Which friend?”
       “Rita, she’s having problems with Zak.”  She stared out the window, the town lights slowly disappearing in the distance. It was silly feeling nervous being with her brother but she knew what he was capable of, had seen him blow a man’s brains out for just looking at her.
        The car drove slowly around winding roads, deeper into the desert and Maria felt uneasy, not because they were going completely wrong way but because she hated being around when Carlos did business, reminding her how feared he was.  
       The car stopped and Maria saw another car ahead where two men stood, the headlights flooding a usually dark desert.  
      “Get out,” Carlos ordered. She did as she was told despite the rain. Her hair whipped around her face but she saw, through tangled strands, a man kneeling between the two men.“Come,” Carlos said. She followed him, trying not to stumble in her Louis Vuittons. “Do you know this man?” Carlos asked as one of the men pulled back the kneeling man’s hair, revealing a bloodied, battered face. She stifled a gasp, biting down on her quivering lip as Jason was thrown to the floor. “I asked do you know this man?”
  She shook her head, unable to speak. She watched Jason crawl back up. He was swiftly kicked in the stomach, groaning as he curled up on the ground. She inhaled sharply, holding her breath, trying in vain not to let her feelings escape and betray her.   
  “So you do know him?”
   She nodded, looking into Jason’s eyes. She saw no pain. His eyes spoke to her, silent words of love. It looked like he was mouthing something to her, words of love, she was sure and a faint smile passed her lips.
        A loud bang vibrated through her, rattling her bones, echoing through the night. Jason tumbled to the floor, blood oozing from a neat hole in the middle of his forehead. Screaming, she ran to him, cradling the lifeless body in her arms, tears streaking her face, his blood smearing her skin.
    “He was a cop!” Carlos bellowed above the wind. “A fucking cop! He was only seeing you to get to me you stupid bitch!” He threw a shovel at her feet. “Now dig!”
     Maria obeyed, her heart empty, her body shattered. She knew Jason was a cop, that’s why she didn’t tell Carlos. But Jason wasn’t interested in him. He truly loved her. He didn’t even know she was Carlos’ sister.
       Exhausted, Maria fell to the ground as the men pushed Jason in the shallow hole. She watched as the desert sands covered his beautiful face until they patted the sands down and walked away.
      Just Carlos and Maria remained. Even the rain stopped as he stared down at his little sister, a traitor. There were no words and Maria knew he would banish her, disown her. But she didn’t care. Nothing mattered now Jason was gone. Carlos would do her a favour, freeing her from his empire of terror.
       She heard the distinct click of his gun and looked up, gazing down the barrel. She didn’t see Carlos’ tears. She didn’t feel afraid. She saw Jason, when they first met. It was her last thought as a bullet ripped through her heart. Maria slumped on Jason’s grave.
    Carlos calmly walked back to his car, he didn’t look back once. Darkness descended and the desert was at peace once more.


Written for  Jeff Tsuruoka's Mid Week Blues Buster over at the TsuruokaFiles.

Here's the music; pure instrumental, inspirational and gorgeous. x

Thursday, 13 February 2014

'There's A Better Way' #ThursThreads Month of Love

Victoria lay on the bed, face down amongst the crisp, clean sheets, breathing in the gentle scent of spring which relaxed her fully. She wondered where Alex was but she daren’t move. Once Alex told you to do something, you did it. And he had told her to lay still and wait for him. At least she wasn’t naked like last time. Her skin bubbled up in goosebumps as she recalled that last time and she wondered what he had planned this time round. Her stomach swirled with excitement, causing her to become restless.
Where was he?
She heard the gentle padding of feet across the thick carpet and saw Alex placing lit candles around the room; assorted shapes, colours and sizes with the subtle scent of vanilla filling the air.
“Looks beautiful,” she murmured as seductively as she could.
“Yes, I guess it does. But there’s a better way for us to use them.” His eyes sparkled mischievously but his face remained stern as it always did. Victoria watched as Alex picked up a large cream candle, causing the wax to drip slowly down the side. He caught it on the tip of his finger. “It’s not too hot, you’ll like it, just remember the safe word.”
“Ok, “ was all Victoria could muster as her head told her to run, filling her with fear from the oncoming pain whilst her body waited in anticipation for the unknown thrills Alex brought her.


Written for Siobhan Muir's Thursday Threads themed month of love over at The weird, the Wild and the Wicked

Tuesday, 11 February 2014

The Girl With A Broken Smile #Love-Bites BlogHop


Miranda sat alone in the crowded bar, happily sipping her cocktail, not caring she was on her own on Valentine’s. Valentine’s was for lovers, human lovers, and she definitely wasn’t one of those.
Her gaze fell on hazel eyes, staring back at her. He smiled. She ignored him. But she knew he was walking over. He placed his glass at the table. “Mind if I join you?” he asked, sitting himself down without waiting for a reply. “Ben,” he offered.
     “It’s free to smile you know,” Ben said, giving her his best smile. She half heartedly smiled back, wondering if he could be like her. ”I know your problem. You have a broken smile. Does that go with a broken heart?”
      “No.” How could something she never had be broken?
       ”That’s something.” He finished his drink, watching her. She knew he wasn’t going to leave her alone unless she told him to. But she wasn’t going to do that. She needed the company, could feel the energy of love oozing from him. She wasn't meant to be alone for this long. Someone out there must be like her. Why not Ben? “How about another drink?” She nodded.
      A few hours later, Miranda was still in his company, letting herself enjoy his stories and his attention, forgetting her track record, forgetting the disasters that usually plagued her when she chose the wrong man in her search. He was so easy to be with, he was making it all too easy. She had to just go along with it, knowing exactly where it would end. Like it always did, until she found her own kind.
Her place.
 She let him kiss her, undress her, caress her, bed her.
     “You know, smiling is free," he murmured, nuzzling her neck.
     “I can’t,” she admitted. She was so fed up, despondent with the way things always turned out.
     “Sure you can, just turn the corners of your mouth up and there you have it. A beautiful smile.” He grinned,  so cheesy with a perfect set of pearly whites and dimples too.
    “Just fed up with being alone."
     "You're not alone,” 
He just didn't understand. All she needed was to find someone like her then she wouldn’t have to endure lonely nights, sharing the love of others in bars like a parasite. “Come on, we’re so alike already, so much in common. Just let yourself go,” he said enthusiastically.
   The invitation to let herself go couldn’t be ignored. She pushed him over on his back and straddled him, her eyes ablaze, the need for a companion too great to resist. She had to know if he was like her. Unfortunately, there was no other way to find out. If he was like her, he would survive and they would live forever, together. It was how the female of her species found her mate. 
  She stroked his smooth chest, could feel the power, his love surging through her fingers. Her nails dug in and he laughed, liking the sensation of the shy girl gone bad. But his laugh turned to words uttered painfully. But still she dug, consumed with a need to know. He couldn’t bare the pain any longer and screamed as her hand ripped through his chest, blood spewing out like a fountain. She pulled free, her hand dripping crimson, clutching the love he wanted to share. Miranda held her breath, looked down into his hazel eyes, the life fading quickly.
"Dam," she sighed. Ben wasn’t like her, she was still alone. Leaving Ben amongst the blood splattered sheets, she walked over to a wall where she pressed a button. The wall slid back revealing rows of small wooden boxes. She picked one and opened it, placing Ben’s heart inside. Her collection of failures.
   Her search would still go on to find someone like her, Miranda; the girl with no heart. Ben’s words came back to her; the girl with a broken smile. Maybe that was it. Maybe to find someone like her, she needed to find someone with a broken smile.  

Written for #LoveBites Blog hop, but seeing as one of the judges, it doesn't count. Written for fun. xx

Tuesday, 4 February 2014

Love Bites: Anti Valentine Blog Hop 2014

February is here and with it comes the influx of red roses, declarations of lurve and schmaltz as well as inflated prices. Yes, February is Valentine's Day, the day of love and with that comes our second Love Bites Blog Hop.

This is your chance for revenge on Cupid.
Your chance to stick it to St Valentine.

The rules. Yes, even Anti Love needs rules to keep us all in check

1.  250-700 words
2.  Post to your blog
3.  Link your post to the Linky tool (between 4th and 11th February)
4.  Pimp/share/brag about your story on social net working sites.
5.  Pimp/share/brag about the Blog Hop to all who will listen.
6.  Judged by Ruth Long, Lisa Shambrook, Laura Jamez and Me, Lizzie Koch.
7.  Winner announced on that most lovey dovey day of the year, St Valentine's Day.

Prizes - oh yes we have prizes.

This year, all the stories entered will be turned into an eBook by the magic hands of Laura Jamez and Ruth Long for the viewing pleasure of 1st, 2nd and 3rd placed winners.

1st place is this rather gorgeous note book kindly offered by Lisa Shambrook. 
2nd and 3rd will receive two twig pencils. 

They are just too cute. I would love the notebook myself but as a judge, sadly, this will not happen.

So what are you waiting for? Get writing, plotting and give Cupid what for. xx