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.

Aspiring to Inspire Project

Greeting beloveds,

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.

Cheers. 🙂

div64wy

25998690

“… 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.

div64wy

letsplay

“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.

div64wy

71riymp4-1L

“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!

div64wy

Simmer

“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.

div64wy

cv2-cover

“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.

div64wy

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,

cooltext1929775007