I've really enjoyed blogging semi-consistently over the past year or so. However, I just don't have the free time to do it. Maybe if I were a full-time erotica artist and writer, I could. But with a day job, a girlfriend, and other, non erotic project, sI want to spend that time on my own erotic art and writing, not writing about others !
So, I intend to keep the blog around and update at least once a week. But instead of doing Monday Mammaries, Superheroine Saturdays or Humpdays, I'll be posting a few of each, snippets of my own work, as well as anything weird and erotic I want to share.
All that said, I did want to share the beginning of a short story I wrote recently. I met someone online and, after sharing some very interesting emails, she encouraged me to write a story for her. I loved how it came out, and that I wrote 6,000 words over just two days! In her honor, I named the main character after her. Thank you so much, and God bless you, Marie :)
The story is still being edited, but here's the first section. The Tentative title is "John 15:13". Enjoy!
"Mom... I need help."
Dakota's voice came out through the phone tight, scared. He sounded the verge of crying.
"Honey? What's wrong?" Marie asked.
"Mom, I....I screwed up bad. I...did something I shouldn't have. Y'know those g-guys who h-hang out by the store?"
Marie gripped the phone tighter at the thought of the three men, really boys barely older than Dakota, maybe not even out of night school, they had seen hanging around the store by the highway. Ears pierced, tattooed, and almost always either scowling or leering.
"Son, I told you to stay away from them!" Marie said. "I told you they were trouble!"
"I k-know Mom, but I....I did, I'm sorry," Dakota said. "And now...now I'm in trouble."
Marie's throat tightened as if a noose were around her neck.
Dakota sniffled. "They say if I don't p-pay them what I owe them, they'll...they'll..."
"Honey, it's going to be all right," Marie said, trying to steady her voice. "Where are you?"
"Outside of town...they have me at the old train station," her son answered. "Please, Mom..."
"It'll be fine, son, I promise," Marie said, her voice now sturdy. "I'll be right there."
"That enough begging, bitch," a rough voiice said. There was the sound of a scuffle.
"Come alone," the angry voice said, "don't call the cops. Be here in an hour. Clocks ticking."
The call went dead.
Marie's hand went slack, dropping the phone to the table. It clacked and echoed throughout the empty house. Marie almost shuddered at the silence. She looked to her bedroom, where her husband, Dakotas father, would be, but he was on a business trip.
"Just me..." She thought, and tried not to cry.
She didn't. She threw on some tight, waist high jeans, a plaint t shirt, and a jacket, and bolted out the door to her car.
Dakota's voice came out through the phone tight, scared. He sounded the verge of crying.
"Honey? What's wrong?" Marie asked.
"Mom, I....I screwed up bad. I...did something I shouldn't have. Y'know those g-guys who h-hang out by the store?"
Marie gripped the phone tighter at the thought of the three men, really boys barely older than Dakota, maybe not even out of night school, they had seen hanging around the store by the highway. Ears pierced, tattooed, and almost always either scowling or leering.
"Son, I told you to stay away from them!" Marie said. "I told you they were trouble!"
"I k-know Mom, but I....I did, I'm sorry," Dakota said. "And now...now I'm in trouble."
Marie's throat tightened as if a noose were around her neck.
Dakota sniffled. "They say if I don't p-pay them what I owe them, they'll...they'll..."
"Honey, it's going to be all right," Marie said, trying to steady her voice. "Where are you?"
"Outside of town...they have me at the old train station," her son answered. "Please, Mom..."
"It'll be fine, son, I promise," Marie said, her voice now sturdy. "I'll be right there."
"That enough begging, bitch," a rough voiice said. There was the sound of a scuffle.
"Come alone," the angry voice said, "don't call the cops. Be here in an hour. Clocks ticking."
The call went dead.
Marie's hand went slack, dropping the phone to the table. It clacked and echoed throughout the empty house. Marie almost shuddered at the silence. She looked to her bedroom, where her husband, Dakotas father, would be, but he was on a business trip.
"Just me..." She thought, and tried not to cry.
She didn't. She threw on some tight, waist high jeans, a plaint t shirt, and a jacket, and bolted out the door to her car.
