SORI Snippets. Enjoy!

Greetings, One and All.

This week took me by storm and allowed me not the necessary time to elaborate on my soon to be released, “Syncopation of Ravishing Intensity”. Therefore, today I have decided to share mini-excerpts with you in the hopes that it might entice your imagination and prompt you to possibly pick up a copy of “S.O.R.I” which is due for release tomorrow, July 7th, 2017.

Enjoy!

Blurb:

Winter Sensations …

Spring Overtures …

Summer Ruminations …

Fall Inhibitions …

The Syncopation of Ravishing Intensity is four seasons of discovery, lust, love and eroticism. A compilation of short stories that are sure to make you swoon in delight. Through a collection of erotic shorts drenched in whimsical prose, Adonis Mann takes us on a trip through a thrilling and provocative year. Stimulating the reader with stories like “Tyronian Rapture”, “Prismatic Slumber” and “Metamorphoses”, Mr. Mann brings sensual delight to every season. A jewel of an anthology for the LGBTQIA community, Syncopation of Ravishing Intensity is a must read for the lover of Erotica. Covering winter, spring, summer and fall, with one story for every month, Adonis gives you the gift of powerful diction and titillating tales. Come, sink in to SORI.

 

 

 

Excerpt: Wanton Wonderland

The air was cold and damp. The snow seemed to flow from right to left, instead of from top to bottom. The breeze made it so. Tiny, a not so tiny man slowly but surely made his way to the rented log cabin, he’d leased for the weekend for he and his lady love. A curvy girl, by the name of Raquel. This weekend Tiny and Raquel had ventured to try something new. Something they’d never tried before.

Sharing.

Excerpt: Prismatic Slumber

I dream in color. Like a vivid, luminescent prism, everything comes to thriving life, and then there he is with me.

Sleigh bells dangling from the edge of the bed jingle whenever I slide deep inside of his scrumptious cleft.

Silver tinsel, tangled around our feet.

How did it get there? When did we play with it? It doesn’t matter.

Only partially covered by a Santa Claus fleece blanket, our skin touches underneath—intense heat emanating from it. In the background Bobby Helms “Jingle Bell Rock” plays, only loud enough to drown our elate moaning.

Excerpt: Jet Tresses and Snow

Long, black hair that grazed my face as he swayed atop me. It smelled of shampoo and sweat—a sweet combination. His arms wrapped tightly around me, and all I could hear was his breath, my moans and his sighs as he pulsed inside me.

Unable to contain myself, I grabbed a fist full of his hair, tugging it ever so softly—just enough to make him groan in delight. Pulling his head back, my lips and tongue devoured the curvature of his neck, inhaling his scent.

 

 

 

Excerpt: Shy Torrents

Supple, soft skin glided under my fingers. Speckled with downy like hairs which electrified whenever my hand’s heat swept over them. My body heat was a magnet. A magnet which had the power to beckon wantonness and yearning. Shy shivered, unable to contain the reaction. I smirked.

Shy lay there, belly down, arms tucked under his chin and completely undressed. I thought of how much I wanted to take my finger, which traced his form, and insert it directly to his tight opening. I yielded the desire because my biggest wish was to savor this moment. This moment right here.

Excerpt: Metamorphosis

I am a butterfly.

The beauty of life is found in the mundane matters of evolution. Therefore, I am a butterfly.

When I was an egg, the shell kept me from breaking free. It prohibited me from being whom I was meant to be. Yet, there was a miraculous event occurring; I was developing. Readying for the inevitable exodus which was about to transpire.

I suppose the world was not ready for me then. Perhaps, preparing for the spectacular event which was about to unfold.

Excerpt: … and she: The Short Story of Constance McBride

He shared me, my Ronin. Yes, he did. That much is true. Withal, I minded not. I’d learned to appreciate the wonders of two men and I. It was a pleasantry that not all knew of.

Many speculate on my consent of being divvied between two.

So, I ask that you allow me a moment to share my story—my truth.

I am Constance McBride.

I was brought up with hard-handed structure and unwavering beliefs. My father, a Baptist Preacher. My mother, the epitome of a Preacher’s Wife—contrite, obedient and supportive.

I never fit in. I never could.

 

 

 

Excerpt: Timeless Daze; Reimagined

Footprints on golden sand lined the expanse, perfectly positioned, making a lovely pattern down the shore—some being washed away by the waves. The tawny hue of the sun bounced off the waterfront creating currents of various yellow pigments, drenching the entire domain in the same colorant.

It was a sight to behold. A beautiful, wonderful vision. And with all of its wonderment, the one thing that held my attention the most, was the individual making the impressions. His tall, strong fame, blotted out the brilliance of the seascape wherever he stood and created a silhouette of gray.

Excerpt: Mystical Nights

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.

Excerpt: Tyronian Rapture

I was captured by my dear Regina’s beauty. Her full lips longed to be licked, while I imagined that her smooth skin and voluptuous curves yearned to be caressed.

From a distance, I basked in her allurement, secretly—watching as she picked the wild flowers from the field in order to prepare a centerpiece for our dinner table for tea. If I could walk through the window ajar as a phantom, then as a phantom I would delight in her existence.

The impasse, my predilection. The penchant to fancy the reprobate. And, whilst my heart and mind remained enthralled by my point of desire, my body lay captive inside of this wretched place.

 

 

Excerpt: Her Seductions

Silence is suffocating. Dense, even. Yet, it is in the silence of the night when my true love comes to me. She whispers in my ear that she loves me, running fingers through my long blonde locks. The effect is a rush which causes my hairs to stand on end and my femininity to pulse with desire.

The arid autumn air squeezes through a tiny sliver in the window ajar. The small attic apartment window, scarcely patulous, does little to cool the ardent vapors of our combines bodies. Nor does it quell our thirst for one another.

Heat rises; silence falls.

Excerpt: He & She

Her reflection was a stranger, always had been. Looking at her mirror image, Yehanna considered that she’d been born with the wrong face. Perhaps the Fates had misrepresented what she was really supposed to look like—gotten it wrong somehow. She was a foreigner to herself, usurped the body of another, or at least that’s what Yehanna told herself on a daily basis.

Grazing her finger across one check in the dimly lit bathroom of a tattered old apartment, which was falling apart at the seams, Yehanna moved her face from left to right, then back again.

Excerpt: Reckless Abandon

Convinced that life had to be grander at some scale, I threw carefulness to the waste side and opted to live life as I would have it, and not as others would impose. What good were people’s opinions anyway? Look where they’d gotten me. Having recently lost my job to a series of unfortunate events, I knew that it was now or never to take the proverbial bull by the horns and do with my life as I wanted. With reckless abandon, I would enthrall my every emotion and thought, not to be withheld by naysayers.

That was it. My mind was made up. Now, if I only knew how to accomplish said feat.

There you have it, my esteemed followers.

To obtain your copy of “Syncopation of Ravishing Intensity” visit:

Thank you again for visiting. And, once more, I am highly grateful for your unending support.

May blessings rain upon you all.

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SORI Samples

Greetings, Beloveds. How long have I been speaking of my upcoming solo anthology? For far too long, to be sure. However, I am highly pleased to announce that the official release is less than 2 months away.

cool-text-syncopation-219617772239910cool-text-of-219617890536010cool-text-ravishing-intensity-219617820840820Is soon to be on its way to you, my dear readers and followers.

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People often ask me what sets my writing apart from other contemporary LGBTQIA authors. That is a complex question to answer. You see, it is not just one thing, it is many. First and foremost, I do not consider myself contemporary.

To me, “contemporary literature” implies tending, mainstream, like most; those are three things that my writing and stories are not. Not that there is anything wrong with contemporary works. As a matter of fact, I enjoy many contemporary authors. However, if I were to classify my writing, I would call it antiquated and whimsical. I realize that my writing style is as unusual as I am, and with that, I am perfectly content.

I once asked a fan what was her analysis of my writing, and her words were humbling and honoring. She said, “There is something about the way you write about sex. You don’t write about sex as if it were just sex, but rather it comes across art.”

If I were to be completely candid, THAT is exactly how I see it. To me, sex is an experience, not an action. Every experience should be surreal and otherworldly, it should stay with you forever. Experiences should be something far from mundane or redundant. So should sex be. Intercourse is a merging of hearts and souls, what is more magical and unearthly than that? Not many things. However, when sex is defined as a carnal act, all of the magic is expunged and so is all of the beauty.

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Why, you must be wondering? Why must sex be so appealing if it is simply an act that should appease our carnal need? Well, while that might be true for some, to me, sex and love go hand in hand. What is not beautiful about love? Love transcends the vulgarity of corporal wantonness. Love is an ethereal, tactile sensation that run deep and is paramount to everything and anything.

The fact of the matter is that love is love. Love eclipses gender, age, ethnicity, and boundaries of any kind. And if sex is love enacted, then it should be just as influential.

With that said, allow me to share tidbits of the “Syncopation of Ravishing Intensity” with you.

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Syncopation of Ravishing Intensity” is divided into seasons, with winter being the first in line. Also, I decided to use a variety of writing styles; first person, third person, past tense, as well as present. One thing they all have in common is the sensual intense element. Here are some excerpt from each season.

Winter

Excerpt of “Prismatic Slumber”

I dream in color. Like a vivid, luminescent prism, everything comes to thriving life, and then there he is with me.

Sleigh bells dangling from the edge of the bed jingle whenever I slide deep inside of his scrumptious cleft.

Silver tinsel, tangled around our feet.

How did it get there? When did we play with it? It doesn’t matter.

Only partially covered by a Santa Claus fleece blanket, our skin touches underneath—intense heat emanating from it. In the background Bobby Helms “Jingle Bell Rock” plays, only loud enough to drown our elate moaning.

Yet, I want more. I pine for more than just his body and skin, I thirst for the intimacy of his presence; for the puissance of his soul. More than that, I endeavor to monopolize it. Make him, in every sense of the word, mine and mine alone—for the keeping.

Droplets of perspiration trickle down my chest as I drift my manhood in and out of his dewy cavity, then land on his backside and slowly stream onto the blanket.

Even in my state of deep dormancy I can smell the mustiness of our combined scents and it entices every fragment of my being at a cellular level. Every hair on my body stands on end.

Perhaps, it’s the ferociousness of our intimate encounter, perhaps the fact that I’d been longing for this moment for quite some time. Either way, he is mine now, and I am relishing in the satisfaction that only he can bring—my night time companion.

Why is he only with me in my dreams? When did he start visiting me here? Where did he come from?

All inconsequential questions. They had no place here in my Holiday Repose.

Spring

Excerpt of “Metamorphosis”

Metamorphosis, definition:

The process of transformation from an immature form to an adult form in two or more distinct stages. A change of the form or nature of a thing or person into a completely different one, by natural or supernatural means.

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I am a butterfly.

The beauty of life is found in the mundane matters of evolution. Therefore, I am a butterfly.

When I was an egg, the shell kept me from breaking free. It prohibited me from being whom I was meant to be. Yet, there was a miraculous event occurring; I was developing. Readying for the inevitable exodus which was about to transpire.

I suppose the world was not ready for me then. Perhaps, preparing for the spectacular event which was about to unfold.

I was being born. Born anew. Born from freedom, from evolution, from self.

My development came in stages—each one in the form of a man—every one more powerful than the last. Making me stronger, until it eventually transmuted me into the man I am today.

A Pieridae. Mystical, magical and powerful.

Summer

Excerpt of “Tyronian Rapture”

Summer 1841

Victorian England

Cherry Blossom petals from a tree procured in Japan carried adrift with the breeze, the smell of humidity and grass rode past, wafting across beautiful Regina’s face and all I could do was sit and stare. She was lovely in every sense of the limited word, for her resplendence was akin to a celestial being. An angel, to be sure; like none I had ever laid eyes upon. She took my breath away, and I was content to let her.

Her large eyes, chocolatey. Her skin, like the finest grade of caramel. Her unwieldy, black curls pulled to the back of her head in a bun. And the conundrum lie in my desire to see them lose and entangled in my hands. A coveting more trenchant than my knowledge that it was ungodly. I was captured by my dear Regina’s beauty. Her full lips longed to be licked, while I imagined that her smooth skin and voluptuous curves yearned to be caressed.

From a distance I basked in her allurement, secretly—watching as she picked the wild flowers from the field in order to prepare a centerpiece for our dinner table for tea. If I could walk through the window ajar as a phantom, then as a phantom I would delight in her existence.

The impasse, my predilection. The penchant to fancy the reprobate. And, whilst my heart and mind remained enthralled by my point of desire, my body lay captive inside of this wretched place.

“Meredith,” Mother called, startling me from my hypnosis—Regina. Such was the effect she had on me. In my dreams I touched every inch of her exquisite dark sheath, then kissed every fraction, ensuring to not miss a spot.

Autumn

Excerpt of “He and She”

She looked at herself in the mirror and didn’t recognize the person she saw. A stranger in the absolute. A woman who loved the hustle and bustle of the nightlife but was full of regrets in the morning. A woman who longed for the attentions of an outsider to fill the voids of desolation that she’d come to know as her closest ally.

Yet, it was more than that. Her reflection was a stranger, always had been. Looking at her mirror image, Yehanna considered that she’d been born with the wrong face. Perhaps the Fates had misrepresented what she was really supposed to look like—gotten it wrong somehow. She was a foreigner to herself, usurped the body of another, or at least that’s what Yehanna told herself on a daily basis.

Grazing her finger across one check in the dimly lit bathroom of a tattered old apartment, which was falling apart at the seams, Yehanna moved her face from left to right, then back again.

As a teenager she’d be diagnosed with Depersonalization Disorder, DPD for short. However, what the psychiatrist failed to realize was that Yehanna wasn’t depersonalized—as she knew who she was—she was just living inside of a supplement. A loaned body, that was not her own. One, that she often did not identify with, plain and simple.

Perhaps her true body had been left behind in some previous incarnation of herself, and this one was provisional. Either way, it didn’t matter. Yehanna had grown tired of the monotonous nature of her ever questionable existence, and the night was the only thing that offered her solace.

With the tip of her finger Yehanna brushed her nose from bridge to point, then across her top lip as if to check and make sure that her features were her own.

From her bedroom emitted the voice of a man whom was just now waking up and preferably sobering from Yehanna’s late night feat. “Yo! Umm, umm …” he stammered.

“Yehanna.”

“Yeah, Yehanna,” he cut in as if he’d known her name all along, but Yehanna knew that he didn’t. “What time is it?”

“11:10.” she replied, her entire disposition displaced, and dejected.

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There are nine more stories where these came from and they will all be available to you on January 27th, 2016. So, my dear readers, stay tuned for the release of “Syncopation of Ravishing Intensity“.

Syncopation of Ravishing Intensity

Greetings. 🙂

Commencing this blog post as though in the middle of a conversation …

One of my favorite pieces from the upcoming “Syncopation of Ravishing Intensity” is a story I wrote called “Tyronian Rapture“.

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Tyronian Rapture” is a historical LGBT Erotic Romance. Focusing on Meredith, a young white well off women who is enraptured by Regina, the black daughter of the family’s house servant.

This piece, whiles short is very powerful because of the story inside of the Erotica. This is a story of secret love which it vexed twofold; the fact that it is lesbian love, and the fact that it is also interracial love. Two times the taboo.

Please, enjoy this excerpt. I pray that you enjoy it.

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Tyronian Rapture

By: Adonis Mann

© Adonis Mann & All Authors Publishing House

line-dividerSummer 1841

Victorian England

Cherry Blossom petals from a tree procured in Japan carried adrift with the breeze, the smell of humidity and grass rode past, wafting across beautiful Regina’s face and all I could do was sit and stare. She was lovely in every sense of the limited word, for her resplendence was akin to a celestial being. An angel, to be sure. Like none I had ever laid eyes upon. She took my breath away, and I was content to let her.

Her large eyes, chocolatey. Her skin, like the finest grade of caramel. Her unwieldy, black curls pulled to the back of her head in a bun. And the conundrum lie in my desire to see them lose and entangled in my hands. A coveting more trenchant than my knowledge that it was ungodly. I was captured by my dear Regina’s beauty. Her full lips longed to be licked, while I imagined that her smooth skin and voluptuous curves yearned to be caressed.

From a distance I basked in her allurement, secretly—watching as she picked the wild flowers from the field in order to prepare a centerpiece for our dinner table for tea. If I could walk through the window ajar as a phantom, then as a phantom I would delight in her existence.

The impasse, my predilection. The penchant to fancy the reprobate. And, whilst my heart and mind remained enthralled by my point of desire, my body lay captive inside of this wretched place.

“Meredith,” Mother called, startling me from my hypnosis, Regina. Such was the effect she had on me. In my dreams I touched every inch of her exquisite dark sheath, then kissed every fraction, ensuring to not miss a spot.

“Meredith, child, come here. Must you always sit there like a proper simpleton, staring upon nothingness? Come here at once!”

“Yes mother,” I replied as I lowered my head to the ground in reverence of her heed. A curtsey followed.

“Mary, do you see this here?” Mother asked Regina’s mother, the head handmaiden of our family home. Their family had been with ours for years, therefore a trusted lot. “This child is so restless and overzealous …” Mother indirectly reprimanded, addressing Mary while speaking of me, then ending her admonition with a tsk. “Meredith, why do you trot about like a boy? ‘Tis not the proper behavior for a lady.”

My reply was a humble shrug, and the lowering of my eyes to the ground. Mother never knew when to vacate a subject, therefore continued with her vexing drivel, concluding her parlance with a “… would you please sew it, darling? Thank you.” the statement was followed by a flip of the wrist in dismissal of sweet Mary whom then left the room.

line-dividerI sincerely hope that you’ve enjoyed reading this excerpt as much as I’ve enjoyed writing the story. I pray that you are ready and willing to give “Syncopation of Ravishing Intensity” as shot once it is released this winter.

Until soon,

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Why Simmer Smoothe & Sweet?

In recent days Synful Desire and I shared our thoughts on each other’s stories in the “Simmer: Smoothe & Sweet” anthology.

During this time she told me why she loved “Simmer Smoothe” and I told her why I loved “Simmer Sweet“. Here is our conversation.

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Synful Desire Speaks on “Simmer Smoothe”

Desire

Since Simmer Smoothe is first in this erotic compilation, I figured I would chime in first with my thoughts.

What is so sizzling about Simmer Smoothe

  1. That a character has Smoothe as a surname.

It’s like having a last name of “Sexy” or “Luscious”. One of those names … where at the sound of them, or even reading them, you start chuckling. You also start imagining whether said person is “Sexy”, “Luscious”, or in this case, “Smoothe”. All I know is that if that person isn’t, watch the teasing and Internet memes start flying.

  1. That the 2 main characters full names sound well to do and fashion forward.

Thomas Kent Simmer. Spencer Richard Smoothe. They sound like aristocrats with money—like old English money. Those names also sound like they know what is the latest in fashion. Heck they both could probably model for GQ Magazine.

  1. That one of the character’s provided some comic relief.

Sometimes, one just needs a break from the drama. That comes in the form of a character named Rene. Now, I don’t want to reveal much more but that he was quite a delight.

  1. The series of events is synonymous with what could happen to any couple.

What was painted out in “Simmer Smoothe” is something that cannot just happen to a gay couple but to any couple.  The range of emotions demonstrated with all parties was definitely understandable, even those walking on the wrong side of right, if you will.

  1. THE sex is hot.
  2. The SEX is hot.
  3. The sex IS hot.
  4. The sex is HOT.
  5. Um … did I say the sex is hot?
  6. For real, “Simmer Smoothe” is deeper than sizzling sex. It is, written in a way that is a cross between Picasso & Porn, with a plot and without the cheesy music. Yet, without the steamy sex, it’s just be a love story of sorts, don’t you think?

 

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Wow, Desire, I’m so flattered. 😀

Here are my thoughts on “Simmer Sweet”.

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Adonis Mann Speaks on “Simmer Sweet”

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When it comes to plot, this story does not lack. It’s such a delight to read an erotica tale which actually tells a story and isn’t full of mindless sex. Not that mindless sex is bad, but sometimes one needs something to keep one invested.

For me, said investment comes in the form of Kesha. Not that Teresa isn’t a wonderful character as well. However, Kesha reminded me of the unwavering friend that has always been truly smitten, yet remains silent in the best interest of the other party. It speaks of courage, also, of true love.

 

Then we have the character of Chris. He is the iconic, proverbial, “Player“. The man that every woman loathes, yet always seems to be drawn to. He’s despicable, yet that’s exactly what keeps the reader engaged. Said situation reminded me of a soap opera, if you will. The villain slash lady’s man that all the ladies love to hate and hate to love. Great things, indeed.

 

Now, regarding the sex … “Simmer Smoothe” isn’t the only story in this anthology that has steamy sex. “Simmer Sweet” does exactly what it’s name implies; simmers until it overflows, then submerges the reader into sweet and sensual sex. Ravishing and thrilling all at once.

 

“Simmer Sweet” is also a relateable story. While a work of fiction the premise is something that does not scream fiction. Any couple, any place, could have gone through these same events. In other words, the conflict in “Simmer Sweet” rings true to life. In my opinion that is always a good thing.

 

Told in a fashion that is both down to earth and rapturous, “Simmer Sweet” hits all the right notes to make it a hit. 🙂

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Well, if you haven’t seen it yet, please take a peek at this Book Trailer.

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2 Way Interview Featuring Synful Desire

Greetings and good day my beloved readers. 🙂

Today I bring you a very special event.

It is not an every day thing that I participate in a 2 Way Interview, however, Author Synful Desire and I opted to interview each other. The outcome was great. We had so much fun. Now, for your entertainment, please enjoy this 2 Way Interview between Author Synful Desire and I (Adonis Mann).

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I Asked Synful Desire

1. In the past you’ve mentioned that the one genre you would never attempt to write in would be Sci-Fi. Since then, have things changed, if so in which way? Please expand on your answer.

When I think of Sci-Fi, the first thing that comes into my mind is a lot of excessive technobabble and concepts that are more “male” friendly than female friendly if you get what I mean. Those components, to make them believable, require the proper research. Truth be told, I rely more on my experiences than extensive research, which was why in the past I said that I could not see myself writing in that particular genre.

In my recent submission in the upcoming anthology “Concordant Vibrancy 2: Vitality” called Return to Hues, the main character, to some, has the makings of an alien. Yet, in my mind, I don’t see it as a sci-fi story, because there’s no technobabble, the world isn’t coming to an end: it’s about being different and deciding whether adaptation really serves to fuel vitality.

2. Given the opportunity to have one of your works turned into a movie, which would it be and why?

There are so many that I can picture this for, but if I had to choose just one, it would have to be “Handy”.

“Handy” has all of the things a modern day female is looking for–not being ashamed of her sexuality, trying to assert herself in the dating world, and the realistic bumps that occur along the way. Plus the twist at the end isn’t bad either. I just feel like it’s a story that not just women can relate to but the men who have been on the short end of the stick can identify with as well.

3. Apart from our collaborative work with me in “Simmer: Smoothe & Sweet”, which in all relevant terms is an anthology, would you ever consider writing a collaborative work with an author that is not an anthology? If so, which author would that be and why?

Definitely C. Desert Rose. She and I both are advocates of romance and some bittersweet drama, so it would be great to see how our styles would mesh together. We first started talking about a collaboration earlier this year but we got busy with our other projects. I haven’t forgotten, so we will just have to see what happens.

4. Out of your own works which is your favorite and why? Also, could you please share an excerpt of this work?

Seven Days of Stimuli, most definitely, which is a short story I wrote that was included in “Crackles of the Heart: Divergent Ink Book 1”. Here is an excerpt:

Seven Days of Stimuli

Saturday

 

10:37 PM

I wasn’t supposed to be here tonight. Tonight is the night I pick out a pint of ice cream and select a chic flick by random. I had decided the ideal choice was Mint Chocolate Chip ice cream and the ideal movie was Jerry Maguire.

Unfortunately, my boss Melinda had different plans. Jaycee had a “last minute emergency” … if one could call having sex with her boyfriend every chance one got an emergency. I personally would prefer Jaycee doing it on her off days, or any time before or after her eight hour shift. Yet, I don’t think it would be a good idea to say that to Melinda. First, whistle blowing—never a good look. Second, and more importantly, I don’t think Melinda would believe me anyway.

So, when Melinda called me and asked, “Hey Bette, how’d ya like to get some extra hours?”, I figured the green decadence and Tom Cruise could wait until next Saturday.

The perk of working for an establishment open twenty four hours is there are times when it is completely dead. The employee can actually count items and stock shelves without a person walking up to her and asking, “What aisle may I find the sodas?” while standing in the very aisle where the sign says “Sodas”. Are people really too lazy to read, or just like being pains in the asses? In addition, a worker doesn’t have to drown out the sound of crying babies or arguing couples, nor wince inwardly when a round of horseplay leads to gargantuan pickle jars shattering on the floor. That stench lingers for hours!

Just as I completed the new planogram for the Peter Pan peanut butter, I heard the ding of a bell, followed by the sliding of the automatic doors. At first, I thought nothing of it, then I heard giggles reverberate in the air.

Slight panic hit when the cashier’s greeting was not heard. I looked at my watch, then peered around the corner.

Shit, Courtney left post without telling anyone … again!

“Oh well, guess I’ll wait until these folks leave.” I muttered to myself before opening up my cashier lane.

Normally, I wasn’t the type to ogle at anyone, yet this customer was different. His wayward, oak brown hair was filled with random streaks of grey and the curls slightly bounced with each step he took. Although he wore a black dress shirt with matching slacks, I could see the outline of his bulging biceps.

What would those biceps feel like? Would they be slightly soft or unmistakably hard?

Soon, the saltiness of blood blended in with my saliva. Not only had I nibbled on my bottom lip but I did it just enough to draw blood. I withdrew some tissues from my pants’ pocket and dabbed away the drops.

What was taking Courtney so long? Being up at the front was starting to make me uneasy. Also, impatience started to set in. How long would he and his buddy be in the store, looking at everything but wanting nothing?

God must have heard my lamentations. The conversation the hot guy was having with his friend soon became discernible, indicating they were approaching the checkout area.

Synful Desire Asked Me

1. When did you know that you wanted to expand beyond writing for the LGBT community?

I actually did not know, it just sort of happened. One day I was at the barbershop and while there, got a sudden rush of inspiration. Instantly, I pulled out my Smartphone and started writing what was on my heart at the time. Eventually, that story morphed into my piece for the upcoming installment of Concordant Vibrancy. As things turn out, it was not LGBT in nature but a contemporary fiction about a man trying to rediscover his place in the world.

2. In the past, you have described your writing being tailored to the sapiosexual. Since you’ve branched into other genres of writing do you find that to still be true? Why or why not?

Yes, I do find that theory to be relevant. As a matter of fact, no matter how much I curb my desire to write something less verbally appealing, I always return to it. I’ve come to the conclusion that one cannot change what is etched in one’s soul. Therefore, no matter how “down to earth” my prose might be, there will always be the underlined air of sapiosexuality.

3. Which story (published or unpublished) took you well out of your comfort zone? Explain why and how you are feeling about it.

There was one story that I started writing at the beginning of this year. It was in all intended purposes, an Urban LGBT Erotic Fiction work. That story in particular took me completely out of my comfort zone because I felt as though I was unable to relate to the characters. You see, like any good writer, I believe that one should be able to some how connect to one’s characters so as to deliver a believable story and a solid premise. However, it was really hard for me to do that with said work, which brought forth the thought of “Why did I think of it in the first place?”

My Mentor advised me to not toss the work or give up on it as she thinks that it is the start of a wonderful tale. Therefore, I’ve held onto it with the intentions of returning to that work and completing it.

4. Please share an excerpt of the story that you find is your personal favorite.

Oh, certainly.

Following is an excerpt from my short story contribution to “Crackles of the Heart: Divergent Ink Book 1” called “Mystical Nights“.

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!

Only at night. The light of day had not blessed me with the sight of her. The sun, had yet to shine its splendor on her enchantment. Even still, I remained captivated by the incarceration that just she could furnish. I was a fool, yes. A grand nitwit for allowing her to seduce me this way. Nevertheless, I gave in happily—delighted with her snare. I wanted to be her pet. I wanted her to be my master.

A few scant things were barely visible in the sparse lighting. The bows of a bikini top and bottom at the bridges of her shoulders, as well as the curves of her hips. The heavy waves of her hair that fell like streams down her sides and back. That was it. Yet, it was always enough.

“Michael,” she whispered. Her voice like a mellow breeze on a fine spring night. “Touch me.”

Her wish was my command. Getting to my feet, I walked slowly to her wafting shadow and wrapped my hands around her waist, content to dance to the beat of her silent drum.

“More…!” she demanded. “Touch me here.” Then she took my hands, tracing her shape slowly, she placed them on her breasts. The firm and tender mounds melded to the imprints of my fingers as I massaged them.

“Yes…” she moaned.

“Why haven’t you told me your name yet?” I asked, just as I had hundreds of times before.

She never rose her voice more than a whisper, and I was certain that this was a mind game, a murmuring of lust traced with sensual innuendo. Still, I basked in its indulgence. “My name isn’t important. But … this is.” With those two final words she grabbed my manhood and stroked it with command.


It was hers, I was hers. That’s the way I liked it.

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Well, I pray you enjoyed this 2 Way Interview. Please be on the look out for Synful Desire and I’s upcoming joint release, “H.E.R.: Handy Extended Release” and “Simmer: Smoothe & Sweet”.

 

Full Book Trailer — Simmer: Smoothe & Sweet by Adonis Mann and Synful Desire from All Authors PnP on Vimeo.

H.E.R. Handy: Extended Release by Synful Desire from All Authors PnP on Vimeo.

 

Writing More

Greetings wonderful people.

blowing kissesPS:
I look nothing like that when I’m blowing kisses—I’m a bit more like a fumbling oaf—but the image was irresistible. * giggling *

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Now on to the topic of today’s blog post. 😀

I was asked by a very dear friend of mine the other day, and I quote, “Donny, how do you feel now that you are writing longer stories?” This question led me to write this blog post.

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The question left me pondering, “Am I indeed writing longer stories?” I find that the answer to this question is twofold. In part, I am. In part, I am not.

You see, I consider myself a sort of short story connoisseur. By no means a master or king as said trade, but certainly a specialist. You see, every writer has his/her preference. Many refer to it as “their thing”. Short stories—particularly, LBGT Erotic short stories—are mine. I do also babble in other contemporary fiction genres, as I did for my recent contribution to “Concordant Vibrancy 2: Vitality” which will be hitting book shelves January of next year. As well as my Contemporary Fiction Romance contribution to “Crackles of the Heart: Divergent Ink Book One” this past summer. However, I irreversibly return to what I know and love, LGBT Erotic.

Now …

In recent weeks I’ve been doing quite a bit of writing. Granted, some stories have been longer than others. So, I suppose, that this is the part of the answer which is a yes.

For example:

Simmer

With the anthology that I am a part of in conjunction with author and wonderful friend, Synful Desire, called “Simmer: Smoothe & Sweet“, (being released December of this year) I wrote a whopping 6,167 words. This is far above my typical 1,000 – 1,500 word pieces.

And for my upcoming anthology, named after my slogan, “Syncopation Of Ravishing Intensity“, I wrote a longer piece, which is as yet unnamed, that is about 3,000 words in length. Again, an enormous feat for a person that typically writes stories half that size, sometime even smaller.

In this regard, I am indeed writing longer stories, albeit still short in comparison to most writers. Principally, those whom dedicate themselves to novel writing.

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However, the part of the answer that is no, relates more so to another reason.

While my stories have not been much longer, in essence, than what I’d originally been writing, my writing has been more frequent.

That is to say, I’ve been writing more in general.

I’ve had an innumerable amount of stories floating around in my head. All short thus far, but there nonetheless. Each one yearning to be told, therefore, I am breathing life into them. 🙂

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Truth be told, I am highly excited about what the future holds with/for my writing venture. I believe that this was what I was meant to do all along, and it is an indubitably wondrous feeling to achieve your lifelong dream.

I, thank you, dear fan/reader/follower. Your insurmountable support has been invaluable, and I look forward to sharing my art with you.

Lots of love to you all.

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Writing Style and Solitude

Cool Qill

I often wonder if writing style and market isolation go hand in hand.

While I realize that this is a rather odd remark, there is a reason for it.

A few days ago my Mentor asked me a question. She asked:

“Adonis, do you believe your writing style will invite or isolate your target audience?”

Admittedly, this is a question that I’ve pondered time and time again. Specifically, because I know that my writing style is not like what’s on the market today, which (as it appears) people seem to appreciate much more.

Here, allow me to elaborate a tad.

Paranormal Authors, are able to invite and later isolate their audience, as they know what they are delivering.

Horror Authors, do the same. So on and so forth. Every author that knows his/her market and target audience is able to isolate them accordingly and upon that, build a faithful following.

Now, going back to what I was saying …

I have a very eclectic approach to writing, a largely contrasting style than most erotica writers nowadays. Which also makes it challenging to accrue a following altogether. As it seems, most readers and writers in this day and time prefer a more mundane and unromantic path to erotic literature. If it’s simple and crass, it’s preferred, for whatever odd reason.

Before I go on, I suppose that I should take this moment to interject some very important thoughts as it pertains to what is going to follow.

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When I first started writing, I was under the assumption that I was going to write specifically for the LGBTQIA reader.

What I’ve learned since is that while that community is my primary audience, they are not my only audience. I’ve actually found, with time, that Sapiosexuals have grown a fondness to my writing style, which I suppose is to be expected.

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It’s very intriguing actually. I’ll explain why.

Coming into the writing world, I knew that I wanted to do one thing; write for the community which I represented, namely LGBTQIA.

However, along the line I discovered a few things:

  1. The literary world as I knew has change profusely. Due to that, my writing style might not be what is “hot” in today’s market.
  2. Most people enjoy straightforward erotica, with little to no foreplay. This is to say, that today’s reading public would much rather “get to the point” than enjoy the ride.
  3. For me “enjoying the ride” is just as important, if not more, than getting to the point.
  4. Boorish and speedy erotica is simply not my cup of tea. It’s not my makeup. I may be old-fashioned, out dated even, but I love “romancing the words” as my Publisher would put it.

In seeing these things, I’ve realized that my target audience may vary drastically from what I initially surmised it would be.

In the grand scheme of things, I am okay with that.

While sometimes I may feel misunderstood as some simply do not comprehend my literature—I tend to steer clear of foul verbiage, allowing the sensual words to shine through—I suppose, I’ve grown to accept that perhaps my style of writing was made for the admirer of “a little something more”.

It is quite possible that my writing was made for the lover of the game, but not for those who only aspire to solely obtain the goal.

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All of that being said, it is time to address the above question …

Do you believe your writing style will invite or isolate your target audience?

I’ve also learned something imperative. Invitation and isolation work together in this field. At first one invites, and upon identifying who appreciates ones works, one isolates.

More are welcome, of course. However, I’ve found that it’s a matter of knowing who you are writing for and going from there.

SO …

Since it is difficult for some people to completely grasp my technique, I’ve accepted that not everyone will appreciate it. More than that, I’ve come to terms with that fact that my literature may only be accepted by those who understand what I am going for.

That being …

Intellectually Stimulating AND Sexually Stimulating Erotica.

I, Adonis Mann, write for the Sapiosexual community as a whole—LGBTQIA and Straight, alike. I write for those that yearn for a deep satisfaction in the sensuous aspect of diction.

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I do hope that many feel invited to try my prose; absolutely. If that happens then there is a big possibility that my writing style will isolate my target audience. I pray that it does.

I, of course, am no professional in these thing so I cannot say for sure.

However, if it does, I am content with that.

Until Next Time,

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