Tag Archives: new erotica by marilyn jaye lewis

Putting On My “Happy Guy” Face!!!

I won’t bog you down with the details, I’ll only say that I’m really happy to be making some story sales here AND even getting some editing work again. Here’s hoping things are slowly but surely getting back on track…

I need it to. That’s all I will say. Because we’re going to be positive around here and look forward!!

Today, in addition to working some more on the new erotic short story (“1954 Powder Blue Pickup”), I think Valerie and I are going to try to figure out why the heck the cover art for The Guitar Hero Goes Home is not doing what it is supposed to be doing — we had a long chat about it yesterday, and it gets mindboggling –why it keeps skewing the way it does, when, in the template, it keeps matching up perfectly.

It is disheartening. But we’ll get it figured out.

Meanwhile, every time I look at the cover of the proof copy that arrived yesterday, I just sort of sigh with a heavy heart…

I’m actually toying with the idea of trying to make the new short story a novella. If you’ve read last evening’s excerpt from the new story, you can probably tell that there are actual characters in the story and a story arc is underway. Unlike “Half-Moon Bride,” which basically had neither. So the groundwork is set if I want to actually extend it into something more significant.

However, this is another one of those situations, where I have no real clue what’s coming up next while I’m writing it — the story just comes out.  So we’ll see how it goes. Basically, everyday I simply sit down at the desk and I write…

Even though the writing has been going really great lately, I have been battling the urge to get rather melancholy. So far, I am winning the battle, but it is just constantly there, in the background. I guess mostly because summer is waning. And that storm the other night really took a toll on my incredibly beautiful hydrangea bush. I don’t think it’s going to be able to get back to how it looked before the storm because it is already so late in the season. It makes me so sad. The blossoms had gotten so huge, and the storm filled the blossoms with water, so now they’re bent way down to the sidewalk — and they had been 8-feet tall. That’s a lot of weight keeping it bent over.

I keep wishing there was something I could do, but the blossoms are getting old now and I need to accept that I can’t solve all of Nature’s “problems” — and it could be that Nature doesn’t think it has any problem at all. And I should just keep out of it, right?

And my lawn care guy has had a bad back issue so he hasn’t been here to cut the grass in 3 weeks. My yard now has that look of complete and utter abandonment. Which is not the overall look I prefer.

I hate feeling like I have no control, you know? Like I have to just stand back and allow everything. Let everything just be what it is. Sometimes it’s very frustrating for me.

So, the more I can sit at my desk and write and not focus on the things that make me sad, the better the day goes.

And on that little note… I’m gonna get the day underway here.  I hope you’re having a nice Wednesday, wherever you are in the world!  I think I mentioned the other day that Nick Cave’s solo concert is going to be released as an album in November. I’m going to leave you with a video they released from that concert — Nick Cave at  the piano, singing “Galleon Ship” from Ghosteen (2019). This is what I was listening to last night, as the whole world was trying really, really hard not to go flying off into a million pieces.  Okay, thanks for visiting, gang. I love you guys. See ya!!

“Galleon Ship”

If I could sail a galleon ship
A long, lonely rider across the sky
Seek out mysteries while you sleep
And treasures money cannot buy
For you know I see you everywhere
A servant girl, an empress
My galleon ship will fly and fall
Fall and fly and fly and fall deep into your loveliness

And if we rise my love
Before the daylight comes
A thousand galleon ships will sail
Ghostly around the morning sun

As the city rises up
As the city rises up
As the city rises up
As the city rises up

For we are not alone, it seems
So many riders in the sky
The winds of longing in their sails
Searching for the other side

And if we rise my love
Oh my darling, precious one
We’ll stand and watch the galleon ships
Circle around the morning sun

© 2019 Nick Cave, Warren Ellis

Excerpt from “1954 Powder Blue Pickup”

My proof copy of the print edition of The Guitar Hero Goes Home, arrived this morning, and while I love being able to hold it in my hands, the cover art is skewed by about 1/4 of an inch on three of the borders, front & back.

It has been such a pain in the butt. Valerie keeps making the art work fit perfectly into the template, and then it keeps not printing correctly. So she’s going to try again…

Meanwhile, the book is actually already for sale, and so is the eBook. (Linked at the drop down menu above.) You might not notice the cover art being off, but we both sure did.

Well, I spent all of today on the new erotic short story, “1954 Powder Blue Pickup”. I am really , really happy with how it’s going, gang. It will probably run close to 20 pages when it’s done.

And while it’s intense and seriously skirts the boundary of “questionable consent” throughout, it is nowhere near as extreme as “Half-Moon Bride” was, so I’m going to go ahead and post a short excerpt here on the blog. I’ve tried to pick a segment that wasn’t too extreme.

However.

Please keep in mind that it is sexually explicit, it deals with subject matter that some readers could find offensive and it won’t be suitable for everybody. Thanks, gang!

Approx. 3 pages

************************************************

Excerpt from “1954 Powder Blue Pickup”
© 2020 Marilyn Jaye Lewis

When he was finished with her, she sat up, and grabbed a fresh Kleenex from her purse. She cleaned up her face as best she could, while he pulled up his trousers and zipped his cock back in.

Her skirt was still bunched around her waist and her panties were still down in back, revealing her ass, but first she reached for her blouse and put it back on.

“Wait,” he said. “Don’t button it up yet. Don’t hide those beauties!”

She smiled at him as he reached for her and pulled her breasts right up to his mouth. He licked her nipples and nipped at them and sucked on them. And while he did that, he reached a hand down her ass, feeling inside her underpants. “You’re soaking wet down there, you know that?”

She smiled, getting shy again. “I know,” she said. “I don’t know why.”

“It’s okay to like it,” he assured her. “Lots of girls like that.”

“They do? Are you sure? Because I’ve never heard about anything like this before.”

“Lots of girls do it – and like it. They just don’t admit it. It’s a secret.”

She gave it some thought “I guess it would have to be. Who’d ever talk about doing something like this?”

“Sure. Girls do all kinds of things that they don’t talk about.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really.” He took out a cigarette, lit it with his lighter and then passed it to her. Then he lit another one for himself.

They smoked in silence as she sat there with her blouse still unbuttoned and her naked ass hanging out of her soaking panties. Then she spoke. “Can you show me something else that girls like that they don’t mention?”

He gave it some serious thought. He knew he wasn’t going to get it up again; his dick was spent for the night. What could he do that would still suit his agenda – keep her focused on her asshole, this new thrill?

“I tell you what,” he finally replied. “Lie back on the seat there. Just lie down and lift your legs.”

“Can I keep my cigarette going?”

“Sure.” But he rested his own in the ashtray. Then he pulled her panties all the way off and spread her legs wide apart.

She laughed in delight. “I already know all about this,” she said. “Not that I don’t like it…”

“This’ll be a little different.”

She lay there and smoked her cigarette, and watched him get the little tub of Vaseline from out of the open glove compartment. “Is that what that was,” she said. “Vaseline?”

“Pull your knees up high,” he instructed her. “Up there close to your tits.”

She did as she was told. And she watched him scoop a big smear of Vaseline from the little tub and then felt it rubbing all around her asshole, and even up inside it.

She moaned as she sucked intently on her cigarette. “I think I might know what’s coming next,” she said.

“Maybe you do,” he said, tossing the tub of Vaseline back into the glove compartment. “But maybe you don’t.”

He got down between her legs and began licking her. She was already a sopping mess, but he didn’t care. His tongue went straight for that little spot she loved so much, and then he pushed two of his fingers right up her greasy ass.

“Oh god!” she cried out. “That’s too much! Just use one! Please!”

He licked her clit and he wiggled it with his tongue and he sucked it, while his two fingers kept a steady pace, fucking in and out of her asshole.

Oh god – ow – no! It hurt but he wouldn’t stop, so she sucked like crazy on her cigarette, quickly smoking it all the way down, because what he was doing to her clit at the same time felt so good, so good. She wasn’t sure what to do. Oh god, she groaned again, because her asshole had opened now and was bearing down on the steady fingers that were actually fucking her. And her captive clit got stiffer and stiffer in his sucking mouth.

“Shit!” she screamed out, her body shuddering. “Shit! Oh shit.”

She was actually coming – already. “Shit!” she sputtered again, because he wouldn’t let up on her; he sucked her clit so intensely now – like maybe it was a tiny thumb, or a little nipple that milk might explode from if he only sucked on it hard enough. And his two fingers fucked her so deep now and so fast, that she knew for sure her asshole had opened way too much for any girl anywhere to ever be proud of – to ever, ever speak about, to anyone.

When her body collapsed from the orgasm, he pulled his fingers out of her, then leaned up to her face. He took her spent cigarette from her and then said, “Lick my lips.”

“What?” She was panting, delirious.

“I said lick my lips. Go on, do it.”

She pushed her tongue out of her mouth and licked his lips, just like he told her to do.

“What do they taste like?” he challenged her.

She wouldn’t answer.

“They taste like pussy,” he said. “Your pussy. See? Dirty girls like you like all kinds of dirty things,” he said, kissing her full on the mouth then, knowing her own pussy smell would go right up her nose.

*     *     *

He pulled up to the curb outside of her apartment building, but before letting her get out of the truck, he said, “Give me a Kleenex. You can’t go inside looking like that.”

When she gave him a fresh Kleenex, he spit into it and rubbed every last trace of mascara from around her eyes – from where it had run and smeared. And then he said, “Put a little more lipstick on. You don’t wanna look like you’ve had your mouth anywhere where it shouldn’t have been, do you?”

She smiled at him, and fished her tube of lipstick from her handbag. “No,” she said. Then she took out her little pocket mirror and freshened her Wildberry Lipslicker.

He loved watching her do that to her mouth. He could feel it down in his balls.

“When can I see you again?” he said. “What are you doing tomorrow night?”

“Well, I have to work…”

“I know, but what about after?”

“So soon? Do you think we should? Two nights in a row – my girlfriends are going to start asking me what’s up with you and me.”

“All right, then. Thursday – how’s Thursday sound?”

“That’ll be good,” she said. And as she opened the door to let herself out of the truck, he stopped her.

He pulled her face up close to his, kissing her cheek so as not to disturb her lipstick. “You be good,” he said quietly, “You hear?”

“I will,” she said.

“I mean it – don’t you go giving it away to anybody else. You need something, you get it from me. Right?”

“Right.”

He gently rubbed one of her breasts through her blouse. “Anything. You hear me? Anything your little mind can conjure up; we can do together. So you call me first.”

“There’s nobody else,” she said shyly.

“Okay, then. You have a goodnight. And I’ll see you Thursday. Unless you want me to stop by the store before that and just say hi?”

“Sure. That’ll be nice.”

“All right, then. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” she said.

She let herself out of the truck and he watched her ass in that tight skirt walk away from him; watched her walk up to the front door of her building and go inside. Then he put his truck in gear and started down the road.

Thursday, he thought to himself. How the hell am I gonna wait ‘til Thursday?

*     *     *

The following night, he drove by the drugstore, slowed down just enough to make sure he could see her there inside, working. He just wanted to know for sure.

His mind at ease, he drove across town – to where the street was better lit, where the people filled the sidewalks and the occasional girl leaned against a traffic sign or a parking meter. When he saw Shelley, he cruised to a stop.

He reached over and rolled down the passenger window and Shelley leaned in.

“Hey, stranger,” she said. “Long time, no see.”

“Get in,” he said,

“How much you got?”

“Enough to work it out. Come on, get in.” So she got in.

As he drove out to the edge of town, where it was dark and quiet and private, Shelley chattered up a storm, like they were old friends. But when he pulled the truck to a stop and parked it, she was all business.

“Really, hon – how much you got? I know what you want, but you gotta pay.”

“I’ve got enough,” he assured her.

“Let me see.”

He retrieved his wallet from the back pocket of his trousers, opened it and let her take out a twenty-dollar bill.

“Okay,” she said. Then she waited as he let himself out of the truck and then came around to the passenger door and opened it. He left it open so that the little overhead light stayed on. When he helped her get out of the truck, she turned around, leaned back in and bent over the seat.

“Let me just look for a minute, okay?” he asked.

“Okay,” she said, “but I don’t have all night.”

“I know,” he said, lifting her dress up high in back and then pulling her panties down. There was enough light coming from inside the truck for him to see her just fine. Then he squatted down and planted light kisses all over her ass.

“Well, this is new,” she said.

Then he spread open her ass cheeks and began licking her hole.

“This is real new,” she said, softly now. “What is up with you?”

But he didn’t reply. He went about his business, licking her asshole. Licking and licking, occasionally poking his tongue in, letting his cock get good and hard.

Shelley moaned and sighed deeply and lost herself for a while – forgot all about working.

And as he licked her hole and caught the scent of her there – the scent of aroused pussy and asshole and soap – he thought of another time he’d smelled aroused pussy and asshole and soap. Another girl who charged by the trick and not by the hour, and how she’d sat her asshole right down on his mouth, riding his tongue, while she leaned over at the same time and sucked his dick. That one had gotten filthy dirty with him, getting into the back of the truck with him, where he’d lain on his back on an old tarp and she’d straddled him, taking his cock straight up her ass and then grinding down on it, taking him in deep while leaning back on her outstretched arms and keeping her thighs spread wide so that he could look at her spread-open pussy while she ground her asshole down on his cock…

There’d been moonlight that night and she’d agreed to get completely naked. Out in the middle of nowhere. He’d seen everything there was to see. And he came in her ass. No condom needed.

“Let me cum in your ass,” he said now to Shelley.

“No chance,” she said. “My night’s just getting started. No man in this town wants to pay for sloppy seconds – you know that.”

“Come on, Shelley,” he urged her, getting up and reaching into the glove compartment for the little tub of Vaseline. “I gotta cum in there. Come on.”

“No.”

“How about an extra ten – will that help?”

She gave it some thought. “Twenty. Another twenty and you can cum in my ass.”

“Will you hold yourself open while I fuck you?”

She sighed in disbelief. “Okay,” she finally agreed. “For another twenty – that you hand to me right now – you can cum in my ass and I’ll hold it open for you.”

*     *     *

For some reason, he liked it better when the woman’s panties were halfway down her thighs and not all the way down to her ankles. He thought it looked dirtier that way. Like they were getting away with something and might get caught at any moment.

That’s how it had been his first time – because the first time that he’d gotten his cock up a girl’s ass, it had been his cousin’s ass. One summer at a family reunion, when she’d flirted with him until his cock had gotten so hard they’d snuck into an upstairs bathroom together – where she’d known there would be Vaseline.

She was a year older than him and she was the first girl to clue him in about how fucking a girl in her ass kept her a virgin so there’d be nothing at stake. You could both have fun and just walk away.

His cousin had bent over the edge of the tub, still in her high-heels, with her skirt pulled up high and her panties halfway down. She’d been the one to smear Vaseline on her own hole and also on the tip of his cock. They were both so slippery that he’d gone right up her asshole, even though his cock was thick and rock-hard. He’d held her cheeks open and watched his cock push in and out of that impossibly tight hole, while she gripped the edge of the tub and tried not to fall head-first into it – he was pounding her that hard.

How he had loved looking at that – his cock stuck up that snug hole, her panties down her thighs, until he saw a strand of that gooey wet stuff drip out of her hairy pussy and land right in the crotch of her panties. That was all it took. He came. He gripped her hips tight and pounded her asshole so hard that she’d started to cry, she’d even tried to pry his hands off of her to try to get away, but he held her and he fucked her good and then he jerked his load right up his cousin’s ass.

The last time he’d seen her was at her wedding. The whole evening, she barely looked at him…

Excerpt from “1954 Powder Blue Pickup”
© 2020 Marilyn Jaye Lewis

Wow, What A Night

We had such a bad thunderstorm here last night.

When I woke-up around 4am, a huge tree branch, covered in maple leaves, was sitting on the roof ledge right outside my bedroom window.

Nothing like that had ever happened before.

And then when I went downstairs and opened the kitchen door and glanced out at the porch — my 4-ft.-high palm tree had blown over and was wedged under the hydrangea bush. And the poinsettia had blown over and the underliner pan had blown clear over by my car.

I hadn’t realized it had gotten that windy because I’d closed all the windows before going to bed and then slept like a little clam for 6 straight hours. So that was probably the weirder part — that I’d slept right through all that noisy wind.

But today is, of course, peaceful and calm. Like nothing ever happened.

The good news is that –YES — I started writing another new erotic short story yesterday. Just out of the blue, this whole idea was ready and waiting to hit the page.

I mean, I knew I wanted to write another short story, but I had no clue that another full-blown idea was just sitting there, waiting,  I actually had thought I was going to write about something else, but then here came this other story. And then I was at it for 8 hours.  Almost 4000 words already. And — yes — yet again, it is filthy as hell. And I can tell it’s going to be another long one.

It is titled “1954 Powder Blue Pickup,” and it mostly takes place in the front seat of a pickup truck, about 70 years ago.

I don’t know, I must be making up for lost time or something.  Because here they all are — all these stories so suddenly, when I thought I was working on another novel…

But I couldn’t be happier, gang. I find all of it so exciting.

Okay, well, I’ve done the yoga and the laundry is almost done. There is not much to post about today, since I spent most of yesterday in front of the laptop, writing the new story. Then collapsing and sleeping through a terrible storm…

(Oh, I do want to mention here that it looks like more and more and more moderate Democrats — Black, White & Latino — are now going over to the Republican side of the fence — I’m guessing a lot of it has to do with all this unchecked violence that is still raging in cities where Democrats are the Mayors and/or Governors. Portland OR is off-the-charts violent now, with Antifa members shooting Trump supporters in cold blood — for the sole reason that they support Trump. That seems fair and rational, right?  Are you people out of your fucking minds? And the Governor of NY is now on tape  threatening Trump’s life if he ever comes back to NYC again. Yes — threatening the President’s life if he ever goes back to the city where he was born. On tape. In what world is that guy living?  Can you imagine any Governor threatening Obama’s life while he was President and then getting away with it? These Democrat politicians have lost their minds. And 50 more shootings in Chicago over the weekend — in Black communities, where, allegedly, Black Lives are supposed to MATTER (!!) Come on, people — they DO matter. These are human lives — not just inconvenient statistics to ignore because you don’t want Trump to win…)

Anyway, it is indeed interesting.  I am now firmly in the Independent Party and will likely remain there forever, whatever that yields.

All righty!! I’m gonna get started here! Have a terrific Tuesday, wherever it leads you. Today, I’m leaving you with one of my most favorite Leonard Cohen songs ever, “I’m Your Man.” (From the amazing album of the same name — circa 1988.) (I have a delightful history with that album, which maybe I’ll regale you with some other time –involving  a well-known folksinger with whom I had quite a fling, who bought me that CD, back when I was still living on E.12th Street and CDs were still sort of a brand new thing.) Anyway.  It was years ago. Enjoy, gang. And thanks for visiting! I love you guys. See ya.

“I’m Your Man”

If you want a lover
I’ll do anything you ask me to
And if you want another kind of love
I’ll wear a mask for you
If you want a partner
Take my hand
Or if you want to strike me down in anger
Here I stand
I’m your man
If you want a boxer
I will step into the ring for you
And if you want a doctor
I’ll examine every inch of you
If you want a driver
Climb inside
Or if you want to take me for a ride
You know you can
I’m your man

Ah, the moon’s too bright
The chain’s too tight
The beast won’t go to sleep
I’ve been running through these promises to you
That I made and I could not keep
Ah but a man never got a woman back
Not by begging on his knees
Or I’d crawl to you baby
And I’d fall at your feet
And I’d howl at your beauty
Like a dog in heat
And I’d claw at your heart
And I’d tear at your sheet
I’d say please, please
I’m your man

And if you’ve got to sleep
A moment on the road
I will steer for you
And if you want to work the street alone
I’ll disappear for you
If you want a father for your child
Or only want to walk with me a while
Across the sand
I’m your man

If you want a lover
I’ll do anything you ask me to
And if you want another kind of love
I’ll wear a mask for you

© 1988 Leonard Cohen

Best Laid Plans of Mice, Men, Cats, etc.

Well, today did not go anywhere near as planned, so I am posting this tonight, and it will serve as tomorrow morning’s post, gang.

I really want to be able to get started first thing tomorrow morning on “Half-Moon Bride” and see if there’ s any chance whatsoever that I can get it completed tomorrow, or at least very close to completed. Mainly, I just want to be able to get this story off to that new publisher and see if my upcoming erotic stories are going to be a good fit for them or not, so that I can re-direct my publishing focus, if possible.

Today was intense. It started out seeming like a perfect day — everything seemed perfectly suited for just sitting at my desk and writing — including the amazing weather.  Loyal readers of this lofty blog are no doubt intensely aware that I’m trying to write the final “anal sex scene extravaganza” and then the (rather long) short story will finally be done.

But now it turns out that my 90-year-old father is having severe prostate problems again and has to go into the hospital next week for more tests and to see if he needs more surgery. And suddenly, this intense anal sex scene between two hermaphrodites that was in front of me on my laptop is blown right out of the water and all I can think about for the remainder of the day is my 90-year-old dad’s prostate.

Try as I did, I could not get that vision out of my darn head. I could not write anything anally erotic at all.

I even tried looking at pornhub and motherless.com, to see if maybe I could you know, get in the mood or something, and everything suddenly looked absolutely disgusting to me. Not a feeling I generally have regarding porn.

So I went outside and took a walk. I tended to my petunias. I vacuumed the house again. I finally watched the end of Miss Fisher and the Crypt of Tears on Acorn TV.  Nothing could re-direct my focus. So I finally gave up.

I’m hoping that by tomorrow, my thoughts will be my own again and I can get back on track here.

But it is indeed a truly lovely evening here tonight. I sat out on my kitchen porch for quite awhile and I thought, well, maybe the blond boy will drive by on his motorcycle, and I can see him sort of up close rather than just from my upstairs window — and the very moment I thought that, he walked right past me! Right past my porch. He wasn’t on his motorcycle.

And I figured that since it’s a Friday night on a holiday weekend and he’s a teenager, he’s probably heading to some sort of party/gathering where everyone is drinking beer and smoking weed around a bonfire — and he doesn’t want to risk fucking up his motorcycle. So I thought that was pretty cool. (And I also thought it was pretty cool that the very moment I thought of him, he was suddenly standing right in front of me…)

So that was my big entertaining event here in Crazeysburg this evening!

Now I’m going to find an old movie to watch (Cary Grant and Grace Kelly in Hitchcock’s To Catch A Thief is looming large in my queue, even though I’ve seen it many, many times. I just love it! The French Riviera, the fashions, the sexy rapport between Grant & Kelly…) (If that doesn’t make me stop thinking about my dad’s prostate I’m guessing that nothing will!)

to-catch-a-thief-grace-kelly-cary-grant-1 - Reel Life With Jane

Okay, well, I hope that you have a great Friday night if you’re reading this early — or a terrific Saturday if you’re reading this tomorrow! I was thinking some more about that new Nick Cave tee shirt on Cave Things (see my post from earlier today) and it struck me as really cute that the tee shirt says “don’t touch me” but the spider on the tee shirt is made of felt and sort of calling out to be touched. And apparently, the drawing of the spider is based on an actual tarantula trapped in amber that he owns, and of course the line “don’t touch me” is a lyric from his song “Girl in Amber.” So, well, that’s one of the many things I was thinking about while trying to not think about other things that I was thinking about today!

And that’s a round about way of saying that I’m leaving you with “Girl in Amber” from Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds’ Skeleton Tree album from 2016. I think I’ve posted it here before, but this is the version from the Live in Copenhagen movie, not the official video. It’s a really beautiful song, and even while I don’t completely understand it, I identify with it very intensely, for some reason. Okay, so enjoy! And have a great Saturday. Thanks for visiting. I love you guys! See ya.

“Girl In Amber”

Some go and some stay behind
Some never move at all
Girl in amber trapped forever, spinning down the hall
Let no part of her go unremembered, clothes across the floor
Girl in amber, long to slumber, shuts the bathroom door
The phone, the phone, the phone it rings, it rings, it rings no more
The song, the song, the song it spins since nineteen eighty-four
The phone, the phone, the phone, it rings, the phone, it rings no more
The song, the song it’s been spinning now since nineteen

And if you want to bleed, just bleed
And if you want to bleed, just bleed
And if you want to bleed, don’t breathe a word
Just step away and let the world spin

And now in turn, you turn
You kneel, lace up his shoes, your little blue-eyed boy
Take him by his hand, go move and spin him down the hall
I get lucky, I get lucky cause I tried again
I knew the world it would stop spinning now since you’ve been gone
I used to think that when you died you kind of wandered the world
In a slumber til your crumble were absorbed into the earth
Well, I don’t think that any more the phone it rings no more
The song, the song it spins now since nineteen eighty-four
The song, the song, the song it spins, it’s been a spinning now
And if you’ll hold me I will tell you that you know that

And if you want to leave, don’t breathe
And if you want to leave, don’t breathe
And if you want to leave, don’t breathe a word
And let the world turn

The song, the song it spins, the song, it spins, it spins no more
The phone, it rings, it rings and you won’t stay

Don’t touch me
Don’t touch me
Don’t touch me
Don’t touch me

© 2016 Nick Cave, Warren Ellis

Pornographers Hard at Work!!

I am of course just kidding ! Clearly, those are cats having tea at the club!

These are, in fact, pornographers hard at work:

Lighting Department stenographers, 1935 | Item 9929, Enginee… | Flickr

Anyway!!!!!

Yes, well, I hate to label what I write as “pornography,” try as most people have done, over the decades, to get me to see it that way.  I still call it “literary erotica.”

However, that said,  “Half-Moon Bride,” my new erotic short story that is inching ever closer to completion,  is probably leaning way over to the pornographic side of any “erotica” I’ve ever written.

I just cracks me up, gang. The story is just so intensely intense. And there is just no story arc whatsoever — unless you consider going from “being a virgin to being absolutely in no way whatsoever a virgin” a story “arc”…

However, even if I say so myself, it is very well written!

Yesterday, as I sort of paved the literary way for the grand “anal sex” finale of the story, I spent no less than 8 hours writing and re-writing and re-writing yet again, the 2 pages that lead up to the beginning of the anal sex stuff. It’s just unreal. It’s like this story is never going to end. Everything is so tightly focused.  (I’m already at 22 pages, 13,000 words, and except for some plot set-up on the first page, the entire thing is sex.  The entire thing. There’s next to no dialogue. No exposition. Very little to explain the setting — of course we know that there’s a full moon. And it’s their wedding night. But the rest is just endless, really tightly focused sex.)

Still, I am really having a blast writing this.  I will give up saying that I
“think I am going to finish it today,” because it’s clear that I have absolutely no idea anymore. All I know is that I want to finish as soon as I can because I want to send it off to the new publisher to see if it’s a good fit for them. And then go on to the next story, which is already tumbling around in my head.

On a related note… You might have seen my update last evening regarding The Guitar Hero Goes Home.

It is no longer for sale as an eBook on Smashwords. For now, it is only in Kindle Select, so that means it is part of Kindle Unlimited right now, so you can get it for free as an eBook on Kindle. (Or get it in trade paperback for $9.95.)

Once the 90-day restriction of Kindle Select expires, I will publish it as a global eBook through Lulu.com. The Windows 10 platform is not formatting the ePub file the way Smashwords wants it (they need it based on the 2007 model of Word docs.) And I already tore my hair out trying to learn the Windows 10 platform, and it works just fine on Kindle. So, since I no longer have 2007, which I need in order to format it for Smashwords, I had to simply remove it from there.

All of my other self-published titles are still available as eBooks on Smashwords, but I guess that, until they update their style guide for formatting ePubs with Windows 10, I won’t be publishing any new eBooks on Smashwords .

And you probably also saw by now the photo I took of the boy on his motorcycle zooming past my house yesterday afternoon, on his way home from school.

Well, as luck would have it, after I finally finished working on the short story last evening, I got up from my desk, and was standing in front of the window in my bedroom that faces east, and I saw the boy backing his motorcycle into the garage for the night. So now I know where he lives!  His house is across the street from mine, 5 houses down the street. Which means that the train basically runs through his backyard!

His house is one of those modular homes, which means it’s basically a really big mobile home. No basement, no attic, one-story. But it’s a nice one, and really well maintained. (And this morning, when I got out of bed at 5am, I noticed an incredibly bright star over his house. I’m not kidding. I’m guessing it was a planet or something, it was shining so bright.  I’m not sure which star would have been in the eastern sky and shining so brightly at that hour. Anyway, I thought that was kind of interesting.)

So here’s this teenage boy, just really good-looking, long straight blond hair, growing up in the tiniest town you can imagine, in a trailer home, with a freight train running through his backyard about 5 times a day , and he drives a motorcycle, and he smokes cigarettes, and he seems like just the happiest boy I have ever seen — he is always smiling. I can only imagine that every girl at that high school is in love with him.

And it makes me think that his parents have probably just been really, really good to him.  He just looks to me like somebody who is so loved.

Okay, so, Nick Cave’s Cave Things has a new tee shirt on pre-order. This one seems to be referencing his song “Girl in Amber” (the lyric “don’t touch me”), but with a nice felt spider as a cool accent! You can pre-order it here.

Okay, then!

Well, I guess I’m going to get started here today and see if we can’t move these happy hermaphrodites into some sort of anal sex extravaganza today!! And bring this short story to a close. We shall see. I at least managed to get them out onto the terrace before I quit writing last night. (Yes, they went from the enormous marriage bed, back out to the enormous stone terrace, overlooking the mountainside in the moonlight to have their anal sex — because I’m thinking that’s just how it is, right? We go outside to the terrace to have anal sex on our wedding nights…)

My god. Anyway. So I’m leaving you with a Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds song again today, this one from 1997, “Come into My Sleep,” which is on B-Sides & Rarities (2005). Enjoy it! I hope you have a great Friday, wherever you are in the world — and if you live Stateside, I hope you are gearing up for a great holiday weekend — officially, the last weekend of “summer.” (I’m guessing that a certain boy on his motorcycle will be zooming past my house all weekend long, with it being a holiday and the weather is expected to be absolutely perfect.) Okay. Thanks for visiting, gang. I love you guys. See ya!

“Come Into My Sleep”

Now that mountains of meaningless words
and oceans divide us
And we each have our own set of stars
to comfort and guide us
Come into my sleep
Come into my sleep, oh yeah
Dry your eyes and do not weep
Come into my sleep

Swim to me through the deep blue sea
upon the scattered stars set sail
Fly to me through this love-lit night
from one thousand miles away
And come into my sleep
Come into my sleep oh yeah
As midnight nears and shadows creep
Come into my sleep

Bind my dreams up in your tangled hair
For I am sick at heart, my dear
Bind my dreams up in your tangled hair
For all the sorrow it will pass, my dear

Take your accusation, your recriminations
and toss them into the ocean blue
Leave your regrets and impossible longings
and scatter them across the sky behind you
And come into my sleep
Come into my sleep
For my soul to comfort and keep
Come into my sleep

For my soul to comfort and keep – my sleep

Come on,
Come on,
Come on,
[repeat and fade]<

© 1997 Nick Cave

Getting There

I think the full moon is making my brain a muddled mess today.

I keep puttering around, doing weird stuff.  Sort of sticking to my morning routine, sort of not. I even sat down here to post to the blog, totally forgetting that I hadn’t even done yoga yet, so I came to the unexpected decision that I’m not working out today. Even though I’m wearing my little “do yoga” outfit as I type this.

I also decided that I had to do laundry today — it was suddenly imperative. So I put the dirty clothes in the washer and there was maybe a half an inch of clothes! I sort of stared at it, wondering why I was so hellbent to do laundry, then I went ahead and started the machine anyway.

And even the trash pick-up truck seems to be acting strangely this morning. I’ve seen them drive by my house 3 times already, but they haven’t picked up my trash yet — they’re going on a whole different route. Which is incredibly weird because we have about 6 streets here in Crazeysburg, so why on Earth would you suddenly need a new route, you know? Is it more efficient to drive past people’s houses 3 times?

Not sure what’s going on there. But part of me immediately panics when I see them pass me by, thinking that I forgot to pay the trash pick-up bill again. But they seem to just be driving strangely today.  So before I call them up and lose my fucking mind on the phone, I’ll just wait and see what happens.

Okay, well, yesterday evening, we came SO CLOSE to ordering the test proof for The Guitar Hero Goes Home. The print-preview machine was grinding out the proofing copy over at Amazon, it took forever, but when it was finally finished, the cover art was a fraction of a hair’s breadth too big for the template.

And this was after just a whole big long line of things yesterday that had already exasperated Valerie in trying to get the cover art, within the template specs, to me so that I could upload it. So it was disappointing. But we are almost there, gang.

I already know I don’t like some of the aspects of the layout of the text (well, 2 things), but they are super minor, and the next time around, I know better than to type an entire manuscript into a Beta-testing template. So on we go, right?

And another weird thing — suddenly, this morning, Instagram has started putting people I don’t even know at the top of my feed, putting the posts of people I actually do know, down lower in the feed. Of the 13,704 people I now follow on Instagram, I know maybe 4 of those people, so I would really like to have their posts at the top of my feed, since right now, I don’t have time to hang out scrolling on Instagram; I want to see only my favorite posts at the top of the page and then get off Instagram, because I need every spare moment right now to sit here and quietly lose my mind.

Actually, one of the downsides of letting go of my private Instagram account and making it a public one, is that now I have way too many people that I’m following. And the people I really did enjoy following for such a  long time,  almost never come up in my feed anymore. Yesterday, I saw a post from Benmont Tench and it was the first post of his that I’d seen in, literally, months. And he’s someone who posts all day long. I used to see him first thing in the morning and then last thing at night, and his posts were always funny, charming, etc.  And I really loved his posts. (He was the life-long piano player for Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers.)

Oh, which reminds me. Today is the anniversary of the death of Conway Savage, who was the piano player for Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds for a really long time. Nick Cave wrote an amusing tribute to him in his Red Hand Files for today. You can read it here.

Okay, well. I’m hoping today will be productive, even though I am clearly in this strangely befuddled mindset. I had wanted to drive into town today to do something very important but now I’m wondering if getting into the car and driving 95 miles an hour today is the best idea. I guess we’ll just find out.

I’m just in one of those weird spaces where life feels intensely unmanageable. I know it will pass…

I’m going to leave you today with Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds’ version of “Stagger Lee”, because for some reason, I always really liked Conway Savage in this video. Well, I like everybody in this video. I just love this video. I’ve posted it here before, of course, but here it is again.  I hope you have a good Wednesday– enjoy that full moon (btw, they just picked up my trash! So if I lose my fucking mind today, it won’t be while I’m on the phone talking to the trash pick-up people). Okay. Thanks for visiting. I love you guys. See ya.

Another New Adventure in Pussyland!!

Oh jeez, people — you know?

No, I’m still not done with the new erotic short story, but we’re getting there. Yesterday was all about spending 7 hours streamlining a page and a half of text down to one and a half paragraphs.

That kind of thing — it takes forever, it taxes the brain, but it is really worth it once it’s done. But that kind of focusing takes a lot out of me, and while it’s going on, I have to battle with the feeling that the whole story is insane and why am I even writing it?

That kind of unproductive thinking leads nowhere productive.

But “Half-Moon Bride” is just one of those stories that I rarely write , wherein the sole reason it exists is to be erotic. There is only the flimsiest story arc (a wedding night). And the alleged character arc only serves as the vehicle to tell the flimsy story — we have the half-moon bride herself, who is the “female” hermaphrodite because she only grows her male appendage (minus any testicles) on the full moon (a half-moon futanari). Otherwise, she’s entirely female.

Whereas the “male” hermaphrodite, a man of enormous proportions in every imaginable way, completely larger-than-life (the Oracle who lives in the palace up in the mountains — whatever the heck that really means), is what’s called a “full-package futanari” — he has it all, all the time. Fully male, fully female.

So the only “character arc” is for the female, who starts out sheltered, naive, clueless, and virginal in every way. She finds out that she’s not only a half-moon futa, but also who she’s the intended bride of, on the same day.  And then her character makes the fretful but wonderful journey from “naive, clueless and virginal” to a little less naive and clueless, as every imaginable aspect of her virginity is done away with — quite rapturously — on her wedding night. (And I guarantee you, I only wish that either one of my wedding nights had been even a fraction as rapturous as the half-moon bride’s is. Jesus.)

And since these are two hermaphrodites getting married, there is truly an amazing number of ways in which this young woman is a virgin. (And it is my humble job, as the lowly yet often celebrated writer, to unburden her of every single one.)

Anyway, it is really, really fun. And it often makes me laugh, but it is also just filthy as hell, with no real reason for existing except to be filthy as hell.

Although, actually, in reality, the story was “inspired” by the real-life person of Peter Freuchen, who was both a large and larger-than-life Danish explorer in the early-to-mid 20th Century. (You can read about him here — he truly had an amazing life as an anthropologist and an Arctic explorer, starting back in 1906.)

Here he is, with his 3rd wife, a Danish writer and editor for Vogue and Harper’s  fashion magazines. (They met in America in the 1940s.)

An Irving Penn Portrait for the Coldest Days of Winter: “Peter and Dagmar Freuchen” | The New Yorker
Photo by Irving Penn

So you can see the “gigantic proportions” I am referring to. Why I made them hermaphrodites is anyone’s guess. But honestly, you don’t have to be me to look at those two and wonder what certain personal things were like, right??? What the possible challenges were…

So anyway. For some reason, I’m using a sort of archaic and formal language for the story, as well. Which tends to make it even stranger.  (Words like vagina, testicles, rectum, vulva, eventually give way to words like cock and pussy, once she goes from naive to a little less naive in the course of her wedding night.) (She has to stay at least somewhat naive, though, throughout, otherwise the D/s aspects of the story just don’t work.)

And there you have it — the utterly intense and insane world I am steeped in for hours and hours and hours at a time, every day, for something like 10 days running, so far. So I’m sort of exhausted.

Meanwhile, last evening, I went to bed sort of early. Not to sleep, really, just to hang out on the bed, listen to music and collapse. And while I was lying there, the blond guy on the blue motorcycle, zoomed by twice. God, is he lovely — his energy (see yesterday’s post). But it made me feel wistful — thinking of all the things I had hoped would work out in my life, but didn’t. (Primarily, two marriages, no children.)

And for some reason, I had decided to listen to Tom Petty & the Heartbreaker’s Live Anthology (2009) while hanging out on my bed.  When I drove into town yesterday morning, I was listening to the live version of “Learning to Fly” from off that album and it is just incredibly gorgeous. So I decided to listen to the whole album, while lying in bed as the sun was going down, forgetting that the reason I don’t usually listen to that album, is because 2 summers ago, when I fell in love with the man who died, we listened to Live Anthology constantly while making love.

I guess I don’t have to say that I was suddenly flooded with memories, and then I realized September is upon us, which marks the 2nd anniversary of his death, so I just got really, really, really sad.  Just sobbing for a little while. I miss him so much. And those songs — the music, it just brought it all so vividly back to life.  It just all came out — those things I miss so much that I try never to think about or to dwell on. It all just smacked right into me, and I had not been expecting it at all.

I eventually stopped crying, because I felt like his spirit came into the room. I really did feel it. And I know that I have to figure out some way for the future that is ahead of me, for however long is left — for it to just be okay. That something good could still be waiting for me, somewhere. (Perhaps not a wedding night like the half-moon bride’s, but something comparably rapturous!) And in the meantime, I will simply continue to write.

Beginning, once again, with today.

So, Nick Cave’s Cave Things announced another new “coming soon” product this morning. (And these Polaroid-thingies sell out immediately once they get posted, folks, so if you want one, you should probably just stay poised on the website indefinitely for its release and then immediately hit the purchase button. I don’t remember how much they cost, but they’re not cheap.)

All righty!! So I’m going to get started here. My printer ink arrives today, so that’s pretty darned exciting! I hope you have a terrific Tuesday, wherever it leads you. Thanks for visiting, gang.  I leave you with the live version of  “Have Love, Will Travel” from the Live Anthology and you can fill in your own rapturous boudoir memories, if you so choose!! Enjoy. I love you guys. See ya.

“Have Love, Will Travel”

You never had a chance, did you baby
So good-looking, so insecure
And now you say you can’t remember
When the lines you drew began to blur

Yeah, when all of this is over
Should I lose you in the smoke
I want you to know you were the one

And may my love travel with you everywhere
Yeah, may my love travel with you always

Maggie’s still trying to rope a tornado
Joe’s in the backyard trying to keep things simple
And the lonely dj’s diggin’ a ditch
Trying to keep the flames from the temple

Oh, and if perhaps I lose you
In the smoke down the road
I want you to know you were the one

And may my love travel with you everywhere
Yeah, may my love travel with you always

How about a cheer for all those bad girls
And all the boys that play that rock and roll
They love it like you love Jesus
It does the same thing to their souls

And when all of this is over
Should I lose you in the smoke
I want you to know that it’s all right

And may my love travel with you everywhere
Yeah, may my love travel with you always

© 2002 Tom Petty