Today, I will embark on a project that was given to all of the members of the All Authors Publishing House family. Said project was entitled “Aspiring to Inspire“, and the firmament in which it was built was the thought that it is pertinent for authors to fall in love with their words all over again. That sometimes we do not know what we are capable of doing until we see what we’ve accomplished.
With that said, please join me on a trip down memory lane.
“… and we” was my very first publication. It was featured in “Concordant Vibrancy: Unity”, the first book in the Concordant Vibrancy Collection. “… and we” is the story of a man that believes that having more is what’s best, therefore, he has more of everything that he can get his hands on. This includes lovers.
Following is a small excerpt of “… and we”.
From behind, I felt his hands caress my back from bottom to top, and top to bottom. He puffed his satisfaction. He enjoyed watching—he was fond of participating even more. “That’s right Papa, take her!” He commanded in a sensual, sing-song voice. It was a combination of horniness and ravishment—a male siren.
Lifting my other hand to her awaiting breast—one unoccupied by either mouth or hand—I fondled it too, pinching that nipple between my fingers, knowing that she enjoyed the olio of indulgence and pang. She was a rarity, the sort that happily mixed business with pleasure, and pleasure with pain. A sexual phoenix.
He was wanton. Libidinous was his desire.
“Let’s Play on Valentine’s Day” is an impish story that came to me on the very holiday of it’s namesake. I thought to myself, “How many people are getting Valentine’s Day gifts today, and how many of them are enjoying them to the fullest? What would happen if food were to be given to a person whom enjoys light sexual domination?” Then, putting myself in the shoes of the narrator, and the reader in the position of the other character, I “broke the fourth wall” on purpose.
Following is an excerpt of “Let’s Play on Valentine’s Day”.
Just the thought alone causes a certain heat to accumulate in between my thighs. My personal juices start to flow at the mere idea of how this feels to you. It’s subtle, but it’s there. Ever present and delicious.
I wouldn’t change it for the world.
Ohh, I have an idea. Let me blindfold you. Here, stay still.
Allow me to tie this around your eyes. Yes, I know it’s pink and red—it’s Valentine ’s Day. What did you expect? Yes, indeed. It’s satin too. It has to be special, don’t you think? Mhm. I thought you’d agree.
“Mystical Nights” was a short story contribution to “Crackles of the Heart: Divergent Ink Book 1”. The premise in which it was written was to suit the theme question of “Would the hot guy ever fall for the average girl?”. Here, within this story, I provided my interpretation.
Following is an excerpt of “Mystical Nights”.
She only came to me at night. Like an abysmal dark silhouette against a moderately dark pavement which glistened with the scarce light of the moon. Her presence was undeniable. I liked it that way. It kept the mystery, and in turn, my interest.
A gust of wind caused the white, sheer curtain on the only window in my room to dance. The light from the new moon permeated the room causing blue-gray rays to cross its expanse. Yet, there she was. A phantom. A phantasm of desire and wantonness. Real and surreal. A combination, though inexplicable, also intoxicating. The way she swayed her hips. The way she used her hands to lift the thick tresses of her hair just enough to allow her figure to come into focus. Black against pale gray. The rhythm of her movement seemed natural yet mystical. A temptress, a jezebel.
Oh, how I longed to feel her against me!
“Simmer Smoothe” was my portion of “Simmer: Smoothe & Sweet”. Yes, I do realize that the word “smooth” is written incorrectly—it was on purpose. In “Simmer Smoothe” a gentleman by the name of Thomas Kent Simmer finds that his fiance Spencer Richard Smoothe isn’t as faithful as he would have liked.
Following is an excerpt of “Simmer Smoothe”.
Harmony can only be struck when one opts to omit the preposterous ridicule of the outside world. I could care less what they thought of Spencer and I. I knew what they were thinking and it was of little consequence to me.
I could hear them now, “Two men, black and white, getting married? The nerve! The sin! They are going straight to hell!”
Well, my beloved accusers, love does not have a color or a sexual preference. I thought, Love is an emotion; a pure, lovely, unadulterated, wonderful emotion.
Spencer and I walked hand in hand into the restaurant for lunch. A bar and grill. People stared, appalled, some disgusted, others murmured at the oddity that was our pairing—man with man, black with white. Yet we flaunted, proud of each other. Things were well with the world, and this was just a normal day in our lives.
“Barbershop: A Story of Home” was my short story contribution to “Concordant Vibrancy 2: Vitality”. The theme question of this collection was “What moves your spirit?” The main character of my story is Henry and he is a man in search of the feeling of home—something he lost a long time ago. In this story I veer far away from my LGBT Erotica roots and write a contemporary universal story that anyone can relate to.
Following is an excerpt of “Barbershop”.
The space smelled of sandalwood incense. The soft hum of the air conditioning ran in the background and muffled voices chattered above it. The buzz of the hairclippers resounded as they ran across the soft skin of someone’s head.
Friendly voices murmured, the ambiance peaceful and homey. It was hard to find barbershops that made one feel at home. Needless to say, here I felt tranquil and was content to sit, people watch and listen.
Human observation was my favorite pass time—what moved them, what lingered in their minds, the things people did—all of it, was to my personal enjoyment. Nothing fascinated me more.
The walls were a dated. A worn color of off-white and covered with ages worth of memorabilia. Posters, pictures, ticket and what have you. Each piece provided a unique look to the already lovely environment.
There was a quintessential rhythm and flow that contributed all the more to my enchantment with this place.
Boys treated like little men, and older men imparting their lifelong wisdom to anyone who would lend a listening ear.
Last, but certainly not least, is a micro-short (also known as flash fiction) story called “… and she: The Short Story of Constance McBride”. This was written in celebration of Short Story Month 2015 for my comrade, C. Desert Rose. In this story we see the other side of “… and we”, from the view of the female in the trio.
Following is the entire micro-short. Please enjoy!
He shared me, my Ronin. Yes, he did. That much is true.
I ask that you allow me a moment to share my story. I am Constance McBride.
At first I was his and his alone, then I wasn’t enough. His appetite—that thirst for coition—unabated, so I relented. I gave in to his desire, consequently becoming the center of their longing.
Ronin knows nothing of love, not at all.
I do. I also know this … I love him. It is for love that complied with his wish.
Why had I become content and accustomed to living off of the meager emotional scraps that Ronin tossed me? I don’t know. Perhaps it was the passivity of his ways; that mellow luster that is his personality, the ease with which I can delight in his presence.
No muss, no fuss, just us.
I’ve never had to worry about Ronin being jealous or possessive. I’ve never once had to concern myself with any insecurities that he might have. Never … not ever. It’s always been simple to love him. Uncomplicated and in some obscure way, rewarding. Ronin has always been there when I’ve needed him. He’s never wavered when I’ve wanted him. His heart may have never been mine—it may very well never be—but he, I was certain, would always be by my side.
Then came Charles. He was so much like Ronin—easy to connect with and gorgeous to boot. Ronin was darker than Charles. They seemed to balance each other out. Suddenly I’d gotten the best of both worlds; tall, dark and handsome and a blue eyed, blond babe. Both of them with a certain je ne sais quoi that kept me affixed like a puppy on a leash.
While some people may wonder why I put myself in this position, what they don’t understand is the arrangement between us. We, are a whole.
At the first prospect of being the only female in this relationship, I cringed. As a matter of fact, I could’ve spat in their faces. Yet, I was also lying to myself. I knew that I would do whatever Ronin asked of me. My pride was hurt and once I got over that all was fine with the world.
The day I met Charles was as undemanding and carefree as the first time I’d met Ronin. I was staggered at how simple it was, natural even, to share myself between them … with them. Perhaps it was out of need, or curiosity. Whatever the case, all of the sudden, I was their communal endeavor and they were mine to be had at a moment’s notice. My shared adventure. My other halves.
“Constance, we’re waiting,”
“I’ll be right there, my loves. Just one moment.” Yes, I know. What can I say? Even the sound of Charles’ voice makes me slip off my robe and turn my back to this conversation. I have to go now because here we are … he and he and she.
Well, my beloveds, this marks the end of my publications. I do believe that the Aspiring to Inspire Project worked. After having shared these excerpts with you, as well as re-reading them myself, I’ve indubitably fallen back in love with my words. I cannot wait to share more of my writing endeavors with each and every one of you.
All of the best and best wishes to everyone.
Until next time,