While the Cat's Away...

Image by Alexander Briel Perez

Yesterday, my husband made a split-second decision to go to the West Coast for an emergency business meeting. I helped him get clothes ready, he made a run to the store for shaving cream (although why he couldn’t take my travel size can is silly—so what if it smells like baby powder?!). Hours later, he was gone.

Don’t get me wrong…I love my husband. We both work from home, and while that might make many women shudder at the mere thought of spending 24/7 with their significant other, we do very well, having found plenty of outlets to get the hell away from each other when necessary.

But this is different. And as soon as he announced his travel plans, I began making my list of what I’d do while he was gone. I’m a night owl. I will use this time to my advantage, like maybe, but not limited to:

Read in bed. With the light on all night if I want. The compulsion to smother complaining husbands momentarily eliminated.

Eat in bed. Something with crumbs. They’re my crumbs, I don’t mind them.

Watch TV with the volume turned up so I can hear it and I don’t need to rely on closed captioning to know what’s going on. God forbid I should wake up HRH.

             

Go to a movie. Or two. I love going to movies and will see anything except horror. I will make good use of this movie time. Watch me.

No cooking. Unless it’s something I want. I like to call this Fend For Yourself Night. You want it? You make it.

Write something. Or not. It’s my call.

What are your favorite things to do while the Cat’s away? Give me more ideas!                                                                                                                                                              

Oh, Behave!

by Valerie Mann

What a fabulous world we get to play in! Speaking as a romance author, editor and whatever else I find to do in the romance world, I have more fun than I probably have the right to. In fact, I keep wondering why it took me so long to get here!

But (you knew there’d be a but after all that yippee ki-yay, right?), it never fails to amaze me how many people who play in my wonderful world are actually just adult versions of the kids I played with on the playground. From the peacemakers to the bullies. Human nature never changes.

Have you ever played the Six Degrees game? You know, where you figure out how many degrees removed you are from somebody else. Like, I’m only one degree removed from Daniel Craig because I met a woman who worked on a movie set with him. *sigh* I despise that one degree so much J

Which brings me to my real point: the world is a big place, but the romance world is oh-so-small. If you work or play in this playground, you are never more than one degree removed from everyone else. Okay, so it might not be as thrilling as, say, one degree away from Daniel Craig (you know you’re jealous), but it’s still important to remember that you have to behave and play nice—with everybody on the playground. No matter who they are, whether they’re already “famous” or a name you don’t recognize, you know somebody who knows that person, or they know somebody who knows you.  

Obviously, I’m working through some recent BS with arrogant and bitchy people who need a lesson in romance playground etiquette. But I need to follow my own advice and keep my mouth shut (while retaining a long memory!). Instead, I'll blog about it and maybe have some self-induced therapy at the same time. 

Here is my list of proper romance playground etiquette:

* Say nice things in public, rant to your friends in private.

* Make sure the friends you rant to are really your friends.

* Don't bitch about your publishers and/or editors in public. They'll definitely find out about it. And they talk to other publishers and editors. All the time. Trust me on this.

*Facebook, Twitter, Google+, etc. are NOT your friends. They are tools to promote your business. Don't trust them for anything more than that.

* Don't be a bully. Everyone started at the bottom. Including me and you.

  

What would YOU add to this list? 

How have you handled playground BS? 

What Do You Do All Day??

by Valerie Mann

I know this will strike a nerve with many authors, stay-at-home moms and telecommuters. But if you fall into one or more of these categories, you’ll relate.

How many times have you heard this:

**What do you do all day? 

**Since you don’t really work, can you drive me to the doctor/babysit my kid/hang out? 

**I know you have free time, so can you make six dozen cookies for the bake sale/volunteer at church/pick any random job 

**Seriously, what do you do all day since you don’t work?

Here’s what I do all day:

Work (yes, I do and I get paid for it)

Homeschool a reluctant teenager

Babysit the husband who also works from home

Play dish fairy (because everyone thinks a fairy does them, so who am I to wreck their fantasy?)

Play laundry fairy (the dish fairy’s kissing cousin)

Feed the cats

Let the cats in and out. And in and out. And in. And out.

Work

Water the garden

Run errands

Work

More fairy duties

Housework that I can’t ignore because the Hoarders producers might find out how we really live

More work

And tell me why I feel guilty if I sit down to watch a show I DVRd in December (I’m still catching up on all of the Hallmark channel holiday movies) or *gasp* read for pleasure?

People who work at home probably work more hours because they don’t really work at all, right?

Dangling What?!

The Evil Editors have decided it’s time to out those modifiers that love to dangle precariously in innocent sentences and send us into fits of giggles. Why? Because they’re like Mad Libs for editors. Sometimes these literary gems still get past us because they’re sneaky little suckers, camouflaging nicely, sitting prettily. Yet despite the fact these little suckers don’t belong there, they crack us up when we find them. 

A modifier is great and every good author uses modifiers.  They’re a necessity to avoid blah, boring stories. Which of these give you a better visual? 

Kate sat on a bench and held a box of cupcakes on her lap.

(with modifier) Perched on the bench, Kate possessively clutched the box of cupcakes.

What this tells us? Boring Kate has cupcakes. Possessive Kate doesn’t want to share and appears ready to take flight if anyone dares snag her treats.

However…authors like to get creative with sentence structure to avoid repetition, or during revisions when they aren’t seeing the big picture:

Perched on the bench, Kate’s possessive hands clutched a box of cupcakes.  Hmmm...Kate's hands are quite skilled, possessive, perching and clutching at the same time.

Here are a few modifiers Evil Editor Kate (the possessive one who loves cupcakes) and Evil Editor Val have found just recently. Oh, my.

Twisting her arm around her back, his cock twitched.

Driving down the street, his heart pounded in his chest.     

Her appetite faltered, thinking about the months ahead of her.

A Dangling Love Story

by The Evil Editors

Jacob couldn’t believe it. With a grimace, his hands clutched the steering wheel in anger. Seeing Paula in the bar with another man, his mind went numb.  The man’s invading hands had roamed over her voluptuous body, possessive and knowledgeable, their lustful intent so clear. Oh, so very clear.

Reaching into the glove compartment for his Glock 44, Jacob’s fingertips thrummed with purpose. How they yearned to plug a few rounds in the other man’s unknowing body. At the thought of the looming bloodshed, his smile gloated. That would teach Stella not to screw with another man, he thought to himself with alacrity.

But just thinking about Sally’s scrumptious body, his mouth watered. Worse, he had to adjust his burgeoning manhood. “Crap,” he whispered to himself in the empty car. In all its wisdom, his cock knew what his heart refused to acknowledge. He still loved Sarah…she was the only girl for him.

*Evil Editors laugh evilly* We invite you to laugh, too. We see dangling whatsits like this all the time and giggle uncontrollably.  We're just having fun though. These buggers are insidious, and no editor, not even an evil one, will ever catch every sneaky dangler!

Dungeons and Old Dragons

by Valerie Mann 

A few nights ago, while at the Naughty Sleepover in San Antonio, the attendees were invited to visit a real BDSM dungeon. The Dom who owned the dungeon had given a BDSM-lite presentation in our hotel ballroom (because BDSM-lite etiquette demands that’s where they should be held) and said we could attend his dungeon later that evening.

I will admit, this Vanilla Author of Erotic Romance (VAER) did not attend the presentation. I took a nap, a much-needed nap, so there, but when my roommate came upstairs after the show, she told me what I’d missed. I was intrigued. I edit BDSM romance all the time, plus I have a few friends in the Lifestyle, so perhaps I needed to get a little more edumacation, right? Get a real feel for the whole dealio.

So, after dinner and a stripper show (which I also didn’t attend, I told you I’m a VAER), off we go to a seedier part of San Antonio…all forty of us. Yes, about forty, middle-aged women (for the most part middle-aged), all wide-eyed and pretending this was no big deal, when in fact, I’m guessing for 90% of us, it was a big, fat, hairy deal.

Master Mike, the dungeon owner, welcomed us and gave the grand tour of the house and backyard, then a nice tutorial by himself and other Doms he’d invited to acquaint us with the finer points of the Lifestyle and BDSM community. And then we were treated to some things I doubt this VAER will ever entirely bleach out of her brain. Fascinating—yes. Disturbing—some of it. Do I want to jump into the Lifestyle—negatory. What I came away with was a better understanding and respect for people who are in the Lifestyle. As one lesbian Domme said, “When you decide this is what you want to do, it’s like coming out of the closet. Or in my case, coming out for the second time.”

At about 3:00 am, we left and went outside to wait for our cabs. Remember when I said this was a seedier part of San Antonio? Yeah, it was right down the street from a very active nightclub, just closing for the night, er, morning. Freezing cold, about twenty of us were huddled at the foot of the drive, serenaded by drunken clubbers heading home.

And gunshots. Lots and lots of gunshots.

I’m sorry. I love action movies, I have guns in my home, I’ve taken firearm safety classes and shot weapons. But seeing them discharged FOR REALZ? Where bullets are hitting people? Ambulances show up, police show up, it’s like a scene from COPS.

And all of us middle-aged women huddled like penguins at the foot of the drive were like, “Huh. Looks like people might’ve gotten shot. Hey, has anyone found out what’s holding up our taxi?”

After all we’d seen and heard that day (a sex toy party, a stripper show, then some dungeon time), the gunshots were simply pesky, noisy little disruptions in an otherwise highly unusual evening. But thankfully, three hours later, full of a Denny’s Grand Slam skillet breakfast, this VAER was snuggled in her bed in the haunted Menger Hotel. And that’s a blog for another day.

Dull is Good...

by Valerie Mann

Man, do I live a dull life. And I mean that in a good way. For all of my snarky comments and sarcastic, the-glass-is-always-half-empty view of life, I look at this as a positive. I may boo hoo like Rosie the Robot from the Jetsons—oh please, you do too know who I’m talking about—but it’s okay. Someone has to play Eeyore to your Pollyanna (Holy pop culture, Batman! How many more fictional characters can I squeeze into a paragraph?).

So, today I was at my local Target, shopping for movie candy (for an evening video date with the hubster) and other odds and ends, like Valentine stuff, toilet paper and whatever else Target can lure into my cart, because we all know you never go into Target or Walmart for one thing, without winding up with a cartload of crap you didn't know you needed, but realized you can't live without.

I'm not even ten feet in the store and I hear a booming, "I just want to pay for my f**king stuff!". Queue the rabbit ears and about face. Three men are wrassling a man into submission...okay, they're trying to wrassle him, but he's wearing them like a bad fur coat. He's swinging them around, they're holding on tight, crashing into cash registers and the tobacco/baby formula/condom lockup (because that's the stuff that should be under lock and key), and generally bringing the entire front half of the   Tar-jay to a shocked, rubbernecking standstill.

This guy did NOT want to go down. Darn it, all he wanted to do was pay for his f**king stuff. Why wouldn't they let him? *snicker* Anyway, I'm thinking here's a fella who's more worried about what happens if he goes down, rather than what he's done. Which means (a) he's got a criminal record and this silly misdemeanor means a whole lot more than a stolen CD/six-pack/earrings for his girlfriend, or whatever it was he palmed, or (b) he's innocent. 

Yeah.

Our local Barney Fife shows up (slipped another fic character in when you weren't looking) and cuffs the poor guy. I look down and realize I've got crap in my cart that I didn't even realize I'd put in there, so distracted was I. The store returned to normal, I paid for my f**king stuff (because I'm good that way and I'm allergic to handcuffs of all kinds, even fur-lined) and left, having been both entertained and shaken. And drove away. 

And thought, "I like my dull life. I really do." Interesting is a relative term. Living an interesting life, like the one that poor guy is facing right now, is way more drama than I care to have. I appreciate my boring, free life, where my complaints are minor, if a bit snarky. I'll take it!

You Googled What?

by Valerie Mann

As an author and editor, I always thank the Great Geek Gods for inventing the internet. You can find anything you want. For crying out loud, “googling” is an actual verb now.

With that in mind, and without telling what it was for, I asked some Facebook friends to post any wacky, random thing that popped into their heads. I had to know if Google really is my friend. Verdict?  You’d better believe it - put Google on your BFF list. Stat!

Here’s are the search results for some of the random thoughts floating around in my Facebook friends’ heads:

Peanut Butter, Jelly and Doritos sandwich or officially, “the PBJD” (Kelly Harrell) – okay, not only does it exist, there’s an Ode to it on  YouTube. Watch carefully, this is important. Cue the 2001 Space Odyssey theme (seriously).

Doing laundry in the nude (Liz Crowe) – needless to say, this Google search popped up lots of porn videos. Which my porn-blocking software effectively blocked. Sigh.  But it reminds me of the time (no, not at band camp) when I was little and we were vacationing in a remote part of Canada. I went to the Laundromat with my mom and a man came in, disrobed down to bucknakedness and threw all of his clothes in the washer. I was fascinated. Mom was, too.

Liz Crowe's idea of housework

Buttons (Stephanie Beck) – Oh, our Steph is a crafty one. She wanted to know the difference between four-hole, two-hole and shank buttons. For us button-challenged people: four-hole buttons and two-hole buttons have four holes and two holes, respectively (surprise). 

On the other hand, Shank buttons have that loopy-thing on the back. You know, the kind of button that loves to get snagged on stuff because it sticks out and then you lose the little bast**d and can’t find a replacement that ever matches the original. Yeah, that’s the shank button. Google says the shank button “usually looks more elegant”.  Not when you lose the little bast**d, it doesn’t.

Two-hole button vs. Shank button.
Stop the ignorance!

Tobacco Enema (Virginia Nelson) – I know…that made me pause, too. Talk about random. Anywhoo…it was more common to blow smoke up someone’s arse back in the nineteenth century than it is now. Supposedly, it treated everything from headaches, drowsiness, and respiratory failure, to drowning resuscitation. Okay then…do you ever wonder how some of this crap ever got thought up in the first place? Like: 

     “Hey, we just pulled this guy out of the lake. He's not breathing! Wait, I have a great idea...let’s blow smoke up his arse!”
     “Dude, that is an awesome idea!”

"We received a report that you're having trouble breathing, ma'am."

 Best Place to have Sex in an Airport (Mahalia Levey) – You know you want to know the answer to this. Well, according to a reputable travel site, here’s the top ten airports to have sex in. No suggestion for a specific location, so it appears it's up to you to determine the exact spot to hook up, but keep this handy list in your carry-on, because you just never know:

(1)Newark                            (6) San Francisco

(2) JFK                                 (7) Paris

(3) Philadelphia                   (8)O’Hare (Chicago)

(4) Dallas/Ft. Worth            (9)Heathrow

(5) Minneapolis/St. Paul    (10) Rome

 What if Spiders could jump like fleas? (Virginia Nelson) – well actually, Virginia, they do. There IS a Jumping Spider. Here’s a video of our friend, the Phiddipus apachanus. Queue the Neil Young accompaniment (seriously). And man, this guy’s face is something to behold (the spider’s, not Neil’s).

Oh, and BTW...I googled Geek Gods just for giggles (you know, the guys I'm thankful to)...of course they exist! Google says so! 

Now you know. Don't ever say you don't believe

Aren’t You Grown Up Yet?

By Valerie Mann

As the mother of five children, I have paid my dues. I’ve changed more diapers than I can wrap my math-challenged brain around. I’ve wiped more butts and noses and puke than I care to think about. 

I’ve paid for my orthodontist’s tropical vacation for several years running. I’ve gone to way too many parent-teacher conferences, dealt with doctor visits, ER visits, led Girl Scout troops, taught Sunday School, made carb-filled goodies for bake sales. Hosted birthday parties, slumber parties, campouts. Dealt with angry teachers, principals and police officers (because two of my daughters thought that totaling cars wasn’t fun enough, they had to total them when the drivers of the other cars were police officers. Yeah, I know…). 

I’ve gone on search missions for contraband (both legal and illegal), picked lice out of hair, and gone to bat with mothers of children who should have been locked up (not my first brand of punishment, mind you) for picking on my kids. I’ve carpooled. Everywhere.

I’m a mom. This is what moms do. This is what I signed up for when I decided to procreate with the man of my dreams. And he’s hot, so sometimes procreation was simply the result of plain old fun.

I’ve got two boys in high school. One daughter living at home and attending college. One daughter living in another state, working full-time and going to college full-time.  Couldn’t be prouder of any of them.

Then there’s the firstborn. Genius level IQ, very creative, pretty, outgoing. And not a lick of common sense. Where this fly-by-the-seat-of-her-pants child came from, we haven’t figured out. At 28-years of age, she should be settling down. Oh no, this kid is just getting started. From a distance, it’s troubling but we can live with it. She was raised in the same pack of wolves as the rest of the pups, so I didn’t feel badly when I told her she’s on her own. And she has been since she was 22. But…

She’s back. After a bad experience with roommates and a particularly anguished phone call on Mother’s Day morning, I let my guard down and told her she could come home for a couple of weeks. When is Mother’s day? Oh yeah, early May. You do the math.

A recent statistic I read said that 75% of adult children will move home at some point. I hate it when I’m a statistic. Why can’t I be that one in one hundred million chances of winning lottery statistic?

But, I’m a mom. This is what moms do. And I will continue to do it…while earnestly praying that I can be a mom from a distance again. Because at some point, they’ve all got to grow up. Right?

Motherf@#!&ing Stress

by Valerie Mann

I guess you can tell I’m a little stressed right now. I’ve had some days lately when it sucks to be me and more crap gets heaped on the shit pile when I'm not looking. But one thing I’ve learned in the Game of Life—there can be lots of curve balls, tackles and blows to the head. And there is only one thing you can do:

DEAL.

If you find another, more productive solution other than dealing with it (one that doesn’t involve a shot glass) I’m all ears. But here’s what I’ve found has helped me the most.

     1.   Bitch to your friends. A good friend has a wonderful ability to just listen, maybe offer some advice, or know when keeping her mouth shut is good logic. And in the Game of Life, chances are you will be returning that favor.

     2.   If someone offers help, TAKE IT.  I don’t accept favors easily. But I’m learning.

         3.   Eat chocolate. Or cookies. Chocolate cookies are a two-fer. Indulge.

         4.    Read or watch a movie. Take time for yourself. My friends know I love going to the movies. Oftentimes, it’s not the movie so much as the dark theater and the escape for two hours that the movie provides. It’s a little sad that the kids who work at the local indie theater know me now and that I like a diet Coke with no ice and popcorn with butter.  The point is, find something to take your mind off your problems. Sure, the problems will still be there when you come back to reality, but that mini-vacation is so worth it.

        5.   Exercise. Those who know me are laughing. I hate exercise. Seriously though, a walk around your neighborhood isn’t exercise, it’s not even hard work. But it will get your blood flowing and you may even meet neighbors you didn’t know. Case in point: our black cat, Turbo, loves to walk with us. Evidently, he’s quite the social butterfly because people on the other side of our subdivision told us they knew him. Or rather, their dog did. What a wonderful way to meet new faces! Sort of.

        6.   I’m not a shopper but hey, if it’s retail therapy that gets you through, by all means, take advantage of the opportunities life gives you.

        7.   Strangle your children. Oops, sorry, bad typo.

        8.   Laughter is the best medicine. Find something to laugh at. There is humor everywhere.

        9.   Hang in there. And remember, there is always someone who is way worse off than you could even imagine. Be glad you aren't dealing with THAT!

The Virgin Sheikh's Billionaire Baby Part 3

by the Evil Editors


continued from The Virgin Sheikh's Billionaire Baby Part 2. Read it HERE!

**content alert - heavy sex and improbable plot**

“Oh, boy, this feels so good!” he yelped to himself.

“I can’t believe this is happening!” himself agreed.

Hands grasping his balls, he moaned when the girl kneeling on her knees, squeezed the dangling orbs between his legs. “Oh, Markie-Linda,” he moaned.

“How did you know my name?” she asked, her mouth full of the huge, hard, thrusting rod of delicious manhood touching the back of her throat.

He swelled even bigger. He got even harder. 

Imogene tapped his shoulder. “Dude, you’re gonna bust if you get any harder or bigger. Just sayin’.”

Himself agreed. Dude, she is so right. That would ruin the mood. And if that happens, you can’t have a ménage and tell Markie-Linda how rich you are. Right now she has no clue you're loaded, she only wants to have hella sex with you because she hopes you’ll impregnate her. But don’t worry because she won’t tell you she’s pregnant. She’ll hide it from you, maybe even tell you it’s not yours. Then you’ll have to go back to your stormy homeland and be super sad for awhile before you finally say,’to hell with it!’ and you just have to be honest with her, tell her you’re really a billionaire typhoon sheikh, and force her to marry you. She’ll think you’re only doing her a favor and she’ll fight you and hurt you by telling you she doesn’t love you, even though she already does, but in reality you’ll be so in love with her, you won’t be able to see straight for the rest of your entire life!

Joseph ignored himself’s annoying inner thoughts. Gripping the lovely Markie-Jane by the ears, he pushed, in and out, in and out, and so on. That was when he felt it. It felt so good. It felt like, oh hell, why should he even bother to describe it, it just felt so gooooood! Like when you’re riding in a rollercoaster, up that first steep hill, up and up, and you know it’s going to be scary and thrilling when you go over the edge.

“Unh! Unh!” he hissed.

“That’s what I’m talkin’ about,” his getting-bigger-and-harder-by-the-minute erection bobbed against her palate as Markie-Jane agreed lovingly.

Throwing his head back with a triumphant roar, his rod jerked and hot spurts of liquid shot up his shaft, up and up, and exploded from the tip. His knees sagging, Markie-Linda sat back, releasing him with an audible *pop*.

Joseph’s eyes sought out his remarkable length with reverence. “So that’s what you’re for.” He petted it with affection.

“Hey, what about me?” Imogene whined cattily. “You’re supposed to get her pregnant, then marry her so she never has to worry about money again after her parents died in that fiery car crash when she was in her freshman year of college and left her broke and unable to support herself or her siblings!”

Markie-Linda’s eyes narrowed at the other woman and wailed, “You said you were a baby broker. I thought he was supposed to impregnate me so you could buy my baby when I had a bad accident and hit my head and had amnesia and then sell it back to him, but then tell him I had no memory of either him or the baby, so he could woo me and make us one big happy family!?”

Joseph giggled. “Don’t forget rich! You’ll be so rich, you won’t care what I look like, how sexually inexperienced I am,  or that I am dragging you back to my stormy homeland, where you’ll be surrounded by my family who will never accept you as anything but a foreigner because you aren’t accustomed to our ways!”

Imogene’s hands clapped with glee. “Someone should write a book about your love story! It is so unusual, everyone will buy it!”

THE END

Tune in tomorrow for when the Evil Editors sacrifice The Virgin Shiekh's Billionaire Baby on their evil Altar of Reviews!

The Virgin Sheikh’s Billionaire Baby

by Valerie Mann & Kate Richards


Those Evil Editors are at it again (that's us). We've noticed the books that sell the very best have something in common: or should we say a limited and select list of vocabulary words to choose from in the title:

*Billionaire* *Baby* *Tycoon* *Mistress* *Duke* *Virgin* *Secret* *Affair* *Sheikh* *Marriage* *Doctor* *Heir* *Bride* *Officer* *Convenient* *Rogue* 

...you know exactly what we're talking about. Throw those bad boys in a box, give a good shake, pick out a handful, add a nekkid chest and a six-pack cover (the cover heroine is optional, we don't buy books to read about the chick anyway, right?) and voila! Instant bestseller. Don't worry about what's between the front and back cover. You've found the keys to the royalties kingdom. It's all in the name!

On that note, here's Part I of our bestselling super short story, complete with evil writing mistakes that we love to giggle over. Disclaimer:  if you don't see the problems, we'll be happy to point them out to you when The Virgin Sheikh's Billionaire Baby gets an evil review on Thursday. We're just as mean to ourselves.

The Virgin Sheikh's Billionaire Baby 

Joseph wrinkled his nose, his eyes widening at the beautiful woman across the bar as he sat down on the barstool, ordered a drink and took a sip. It was a delicious concoction, he told himself. He watched her over the rim of the succulent fluid.

“She’s so lovely,” he muttered with a low groan of desire. Lust filled his blood to boiling, creating a storm like the sandstorms in the desert of his stormy homeland. Now those are storms, he thought to himself. His self agreed heartily. Nobody knew storms like he and himself.

She twisted on the rotating stool, swiveling. Her blue eyes wandered around as they caught the light from the round silver disco ball as it hung from the ceiling and twirled. Her green gaze found his coal black one. His dark stare penetrated her back.

She slid down as she stood up. Sauntering over, her elbows rested on top of the bar. He gulped as her bounteous cleavage emanated from the top of her low-cut, revealing, leaving-nothing-to-his-or-himself’s-imagination. His thick cock strained against his designer pants, the plaid pattern changing shape immensely.

She grinned, revealing pearly white, shiny, straight teeth. Another storm brewed in his gut, lashing relentlessly at his whole body,  from his head to his toes and everywhere in between. “Hello, handsome. Buy me a drink?”

Gulping, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth and lodged in his throat.  She made him so hot. He felt so warm. He thought he was going to pass out from the storm. He sensed turmoil releasing its mighty force within his entire body, not just part of it. Every part!

Stuttering, his tongue peeled from the roof so he could speak to this beautiful creature standing here, tonight, in front of him. “Uh…”

“What’s the matter, handsome? Cat got your tongue?” She laughed a trilling giggle, snorting.

Oh, I need to be honest with her. She needs the truth. I need to just say it!  “I’d love to buy you a drink. But I can’t,” he muttered angrily, it was so disheartening and sad that she needed to know. But he thought it was the right thing to do! Everyone knows that you have to be honest when you’re meeting your future wife!

Her eyes widened prettily and blue. “Why not?” His eyes dropped to that chest. Her huge boobs strained like a baby filling its diaper, so ripe and plump.   

He wanted to cry. He and himself were so embarrassed and humiliated, his whole entire body quivered now, warring with the desire filling his soul and shooting desire right here to his huge, plaid manhood all at the same time.  

Loudly, he wailed, “I’m a virgin!” 

***

Visit us tomorrow to find out what happens to Joseph, himself and the girl with the emanating boobs.

The Evil Editor’s Movie Reviews

By Valerie Mann

Pariah

Before I get started, I’ll admit right up front I have a major addiction to going to the movies. Since my husband and I both work from home, getting out of the house to have some alone time is critical to my sanity and continuing to like my husband on a regular basis. Give me a dark theater for two hours, some smuggled candy and soda, and I’m a happy camper with recharged batteries.

I adore indie movies. Subtitles don’t bother me in the least. Foreign films are the bomb. Feeding my addiction are several theaters near my home that serve up a plethora of indie movies, including one that has at least two Bollywood movies at any given time. Don’t like Bollywood yet? You will when I get done reviewing a couple. They crack me up.

Anyway…

Today I saw Pariah. A Sundance Film Festival selection last year, it deals with a high school student, Alike (“Lee”), coming of age and finding the courage to deal with her lesbianism and her family's response to it. Her church-going, rigid mother (played by Kim Wayans, an amazing actress) and her police office father are both at different levels of denial about their daughter’s sexual identity, neither admitting it, both suspecting it, and most definitely fearing it. 

Without going into too many details, I will tell you what I didn’t like about this movie. As an evil editor, I look at plot carefully, and an ending has to satisfy me. The plot was predictable and exactly what I expected Alike would face when she comes out of the closet to face her closed minded parents. Then again, there are probably only two things that could happen—mom and dad deal—or they don’t. And some may argue with me that the ending was just okay, but the journey to get there was worth it, so the lack of imagination was forgivable.

What I liked about Pariah—Lee was never ashamed of her sexuality. Though facing rejection and fear, she never denied being a lesbian. She did hide it, as much to prevent her parents and sister from hurt, as she did to avoid dealing with their rejection. But there was never a time when she tried to pretend to herself that she was not gay. Another refreshing detail I appreciated was that the movie wasn’t geared toward Lee’s relationship with her straight classmates, but rather centered around the relationship with her family. The different ways they dealt with her coming out was predictable as well, but realistic.


The acting was very good, very realistic, without being over-dramatic. A serious topic was handled with care and sensitivity. Sexuality was integral in the movie, sex was not. 

My rating: B

Recommendation: Worth seeing if you can find it showing near you. Or rent it. 

Gabriel and Tatiana Part 3 ~ The End

by Kate Richards & Valerie Mann (Evil Editors)

Continued from yesterday... 

Tatiana gasped in an aching breath and pressed her lips to his. “Gabriel,” she said, “I must have your adorable manhood in my chamber of love before another moment passes.”

“Okay,” he said, holding firmly to the girth of his heavily bobbing penis and directing it toward Tatiana’s soaking folds. “But if I am yanked away to hell in mid-thrust you’ll have to excuse me.”

“That can’t happen,” she said. “I have connections.”

He rocketed back on his heels and stared at her, agape. “Tatty, are you an angel, too? I thought I noticed an unnatural light in your eyes, but I’ve never seen an angel with gleaming orange irises twirling in opposite directions.”

She grinned, baring gleaming, pointed fangs. “I am surprised you didn’t guess. I am the daughter of Satan, here on earth to take the virginity of a stupid angel in order to impregnate myself and bear a half angel half demon offspring for nefarious purposes of my great and evil daddy.

He groaned and shoved himself to the hilt in her heated chamber. “I don’t care. I am wearing a condom anyway.” He screamed. His huge balls slapped against her butt cheeks, sending him into spasms of need.

“Yes, I have activated the acid bath that eats through condoms. You will impregnate me now. I want you to. I need you to. I want …yeah, anyway.”

“It hurts, so good.”

“Sure, it’s only acid. Allow me to clench my muscles around you.” She groaned. “Uhhh Uhhhh Uhhh. The giant vein is rubbing against my G-spot. Mmmmm.”

He banged her violently, rocking her head into the headboard.  “I love you. I will give up everything for you for no reason whatsoever except your hot pussy that even now milks me of my fluid of life.”

She seemed to be thinking of something else what she was doing after and he tried to bang the thoughts out of her head.

“Oh baby, it’s so good.” He rocked harder, giving her a concussion and her back arched off the bed.”

Her legs bent at the knees, her feet locked around his neck, and she took the opportunity to admire the baby pink polish she’d chosen at the salon that afternoon. It was her favorite color and reminded her of the time her old boyfriend brought her some pink carnations when they made love for the first time. His penis was almost as long as Gabriel’s and she had enjoyed it greatly. Bucking and thrusting, driving and rocking, growling and roaring, he plunged into her.

“Please rub the tiny bundle of nerves nestled between my nether lips,” she ordered. He used a long, masculine finger to circle her love nubbin in slow, controlled rounds. It throbbed and ached and swelled until it was even harder down there. “Now suck my breasts.” He nibbled gently on her tightened peaks.  “Rub your belly and pat your head at the same time.”

The angel in his desire to please her grew two more arms from his armpits and did everything she wanted while she drew his tongue into her mouth and waltzed with it. It circled and caressed the insides of her cheeks and danced around her teeth. He hoped she’d brushed and flossed that morning.

Her legs began to ache and she lifted them further, locking her glossy pink toes into the headboard and unintentionally exposing her gorgeous rear rosette. He sniffed at the tiny brown star and inhaled the appealing fragrance it exuded of toasted marshmallows and graham crackers. It reminded him of sitting around the campfires that time at band camp.

“I must take your anal viriginity next,” he announced around her tongue.

“Cool and we don’t need any lube or anything. When you’re ready just go to it.”

“Oh, you must be experienced then, with an ass the side of a subway tunnel,” he growled, disappointed. This might not be as fun as I thought, he thought.

“No, never done it before, but I’m sure it will be fine,” she groaned shrilly, the rosette twinkling invitingly. “I just want to feel your jets of love fluid pulsing when you reach your climax!”

“Well for now, I’m gonna finish up here.”

The phone called them.

He leapt off her. “I’m expecting a call. Please excuse me.”

“Sure, go right ahead. I’ll order room service.”

He picked the phone off the table and put it to his ear, speaking into the receiver, “Hello?” he sang. “Oh, it’s for you.”

She tumbled from the bed, giggling. “Hi? Oh, hello, Daddy.” She cupped her hand over the phone. “It’s Daddy,” she explained to him in an aside. “What? I’m working on it, Daddy. Yes, Daddy. Okay, Daddy.”

She handed Gabriel the phone, which he took with his left hand. “Angel, hurry up and impregnate my daughter now.”

His tone was amok.

Tatiana rushed across the room to fling herself on the blue quilt and push her ass in the air.

“Due me, Gabriel.” She arched her back and wagged her luscious ass back and forth, the shiny globes beckoning . “Hurry, the puddle of my desire for you is soaking the mattress.”

“I love you, Tatiana.”

She tucked and rolled, landing on the floor on her knees at his feet. “I love you, too.”

“We should run away to Nirvana and we can be safe there.” He winked. “You’re not the only one with connections.”

“Oh, good plan! I love that band!” They both chorused and she spoke to his dick. “You can cum, too.

“Gabriel frowned, mockingly. “No, my love. He can’t cum. But I promise you, we’ll all come!”

Her nipples pouted prettily as they both laughed at the same time. “Silly nouns and verbs!”