Last Night a DJ Saved My Life

Grace wakes up in the home of her favourite radio presenter.

Don’t forget to read part 1 first, you can find it here: Part 1

Last Night a DJ Saved My Life

The bang of a door dragged me from my sleep.

“Oh, God, no,” I grunted. It was like a gang of bikers swinging metal chains were at a rock concert inside my head. I tried to swallow, but my tongue was thick and dry against the roof of my mouth. Please, I need water. Maybe Brian had done the thing he never did and left me a glass.

Suddenly everything came rushing back to me. There was no Brian in my life or job or apartment. Where am I? Had I gone home with the Aussie barman? No, he was gay, I think. I had propositioned him, though. I rubbed my face with my palms. Did I return to university and sleep with an eighteen-year-old? I’d never live it down. Oh shit, they’re going to call me a cougar, or worse. I groaned louder.

Slowly I opened my eyes, scared where I’d find myself in. Crisp cotton bedding that was as soft as a cloud on my hanging head and blinds that hid a window stretching from the ceiling to the floor made me gasp. I was in George’s bed. A safe space. When we were younger, I used to sleep next to him at all the parties, and we were always platonic. But we weren’t young anymore. I eyed the space next to me, but it was untouched. Where had he slept?

On top of the round bedside table was two full glasses of water and paracetamol. George knew me too well. I gulped down the pills and both drinks before flopping my head back on the pillow. I pulled the duvet up to my nose and breathed in the mixture of vanilla and grapefruit. He always smelt so good. Even his scent on the bedding made my headache better.

Snippets of last night returned like a haunting. I’d propositioned the barman and asked George if I could see his cock. For fuck’s sake. I buried my head beneath the covers.

A soft knock came from the door. What time was it? Lectures started today, and uni was a train ride away. I tried to distinguish outside noises to give me a hint at what time of day it might be, but his windows muffled the sounds of London. How many women had slept in this bed, waking up to his warm body beside them? Did he wake them by stroking between their legs and caressing them gently or did he pin their hands above them and lick down their bodies before thrusting inside them? My body seared as he knocked again. Fantasies about your best friend weren’t allowed.

“Come in,” I replied sheepishly from underneath the duvet.

“Only if you’re decent,” he replied. I pulled the duvet back to see what I was wearing. Shit. When did I take my dress off? It had to be in the night. I wouldn’t have done it in front of George. We’d had some boundaries even when we were younger. So why can’t you remember what you did? And why are you hoping he removed it?

I hid back under the duvet now desperate for answers.

“I’ve hidden my decency for now, but I’m going to need answers. Come in.” He strode straight to the windows and pulled back the curtains. Daylight forced its way inside the bedroom, and I sunk deeper into the bed.

“Not feeling your best?” he smirked as the sunshine burnt my retinas.

I peaked out from beneath the duvet and marvelled how good he looked in comparison to my slummy self. His long-sleeved baseball shirt was tight enough to remind me that I’d touched his solid pecs the night before. My gaze travelled down to his jeans that hinted at the package beneath. Oh shit, I talked about his cock. Did I dream about it too?

Why did he have to have such a sexy voice? My colleagues had often talked about his sexy voice. I’d noticed it, but now I wanted him to whisper filthy things in my ear as he pushed inside me. I couldn’t stop staring at his package. Did it move when I was staring at it? Why do I suddenly care about his cock now? Maybe it was because I was dealing with a long term build-up of hornyness or because I was around students who never stopped fucking.  I remembered again the way George said dick. I needed to get laid as soon as possible and not by my best friend.

“Finished staring?” My eyes flipped to his, and I was relieved to find them crinkled in amusement. “What’s going on with you, Grace?”

I paused and took another breath, filling myself with his scent. That only made things worse. I should leave as quickly and politely as possible.

“I think that breaking up with Brian and then surrounding myself with students who shag like rabbits has made me horny as fuck,” I confessed. Don’t stare at his dick again. But it drew me in, and my gaze flicked that way. His package twitched. It definitely twitched that time!

“You told me all about your hornyness last night. I thought that was you in drunk mode.” He sat on the edge of the bed. Was he trying to hide his cock from me by sitting down? Had I stared that much? Nah, we were friends. Midge and Big G. Oh shit, now I’m thinking about his Big G again. “Especially when you tried to barter with me so that you could see my dick.”

“What?” I covered my face in shame and also because he’d repeated the word dick. The heat was coursing through my body.

He eased the duvet back so he could see my face. His grey eyes were dancing. Was I still drunk? Eyes don’t dance. They seemed to sparkle like never before. “You told me that I could undress you if I showed you my, and I’m quoting here, ‘massive, panty-dropping cock’.”

The heat was now between my legs, and I didn’t want it to go. Even with a hangover, I felt alive like never before. My stomach flipped, and my pussy pulsed. I had missed out on so much with Brian, but I didn’t want George really, I couldn’t. But I had to admit that a big part of me, and not just the part that was wet and aching, did.

Why did his voice have to be so deep and seductive? I knew it was his job to entertain millions with his voice as a radio presenter, but this was me trying to hold on to any dignity I still had.

“And did you undress me?” The idea excited me. My heart rose as I imagined his finger slipping inside my dress and undoing the knot that kept the material together. Was his skin against mine as he lifted the hem and cupped my bum. Did he squeeze it briefly to see my reaction? I wanted his hands pushing the material off my shoulders and revealing my breasts hidden by the thin lace material of my bra. I fought the pull to squirm against my knickers.

I fixed him with a gaze. Humour left the room. Why had we never got together? In sixth form he was too busy screwing anything, teachers included, but never me. It was like our friendship was the most important thing to both of us, and we didn’t want to risk it. Then at university, I met Brian, and that was that. But I’d never been attracted to George before, had I?

“Did you undress me, George?” Please say yes. Maybe I’m still drunk because this isn’t me.

“No. I let you do that once I’d left the room. I needed my sleep for work,” he said quietly. His emotion was indistinguishable. I was too old to be having these feelings about my best mate. He was one of the few friends I had, and I couldn’t risk that.

“Phew.” I forced out my laugh. “You weren’t late for work, were you?”

As one of the best radio presenters in London, I knew nothing mattered more to George than his job. He’d reached his dream of being a breakfast radio presenter a couple of years earlier. It was the most coveted show. Only the best got to be breakfast hosts, and he was undoubtedly the best. The only problem was the way it fucked with his life. That was his other reason for hook-ups. Breakfast presenters were famous for being too exhausted for proper relationships. He was up every weekday morning before sunrise. He got invites to the best parties but was too tired to attend them.

“No, I was fine. I did tell my millions of listeners about my night and how my best friend was propositioning me.”

I sat up straight. “Please no, tell you me you didn’t.”

His gaze dropped down. The duvet had fallen, and my bra was showing. In the old days, it would have meant nothing, but there was heat in his eyes. His gaze seared my skin, and I licked my lips in anticipation, holding my sigh tightly. Something had changed between us and I wanted more. My nipples hardened, and he looked at my face before rubbing his hand across the stubble on his chin. What would that stubble feel like between my legs? I wanted him to scratch my thighs as he licked my pussy. I ached at the possibility of his soft lips against my nipples.

The ticking clock brought me to my senses. “Hold on, if you’re just getting home, that means it’s nearly lunchtime.” I jumped up; my blushes already forgotten.

It was Monday, and I had my first lecture in a couple of hours. I couldn’t miss that.

George was silent as I ran around the room. He stared between my legs. I dragged my dress from the floor and briefly glanced in the mirror to see what had caught George’s attention. The pink lace of my knickers was darker at my pussy. Was I that wet? Had George made me wet before?

I threw the dress on and shoved my fingers through my hair as I attempted to detangle the knots. Where were my purse and shoes? George remained frozen on the bed, his legs wide. He watched everything I did with raised eyebrows. I didn’t have time to worry about it, although it would consume me later.

“I guess I’m going to do the walk of shame,” I joked giving one last look to his parted lips as I dashed out the door.

“You wish,” he called back although it seemed like he was on a delay. He was right, though. I wished it more than I wished I had time to get to my halls before the lecture. I wanted to stay in that bed and scream louder than any of his conquests had before. The reality would struggle to live up to my fantasies, but I wanted to give reality a chance and find out for myself.

What the fuck was going on?

Chasing Rainbows

Somebody That I Used to Know

Night at the bar

“Homeless, dumped and fired.  Sorry I took “voluntary redundancy”, i.e. leave, or we’ll fire you because the company can’t afford to keep you or the rest of hundred people we’re offering voluntary redundancy to.

“My life couldn’t get any worse right? Oh yeah, I lost half my friends, and my parents wouldn’t speak to me. I’ve followed my life plan since I was twelve years old. I used my £25 birthday money and opened my first bank account to save for university. Then I watched my best mate, George, who was born on the same day as me, waste all of his birthday money on CDs from HMV and the biggest McDonald’s ever.

“At university, I met my fiancé, ex-fiancé, Brian. We were studying accounting, and it was his ultimate dream to be a wealthy accountant. I was interested in psychology, but that didn’t fit into my long- term plan of comfortable job, married by twenty-five and first child by twenty-eight so I chose accounting. George rolled his eyes when I told him I’d applied to study accounting. He nearly disowned me when I told him that Brian and I were an official couple. “University is about sex and having lots of it,” he’d shouted down the phone as in the background giggling ladies had screamed his name at his sixth party that week. Maybe university life was about sex for lots of people, including George, but I had a plan.

“Over time, my plan got harder to stick to. I didn’t have the wedding ring or baby by twenty-eight, but as Brian said, we were both completing our qualifications to be certified accountants. We were climbing the ladder. “There isn’t time to do everything,” he reminded me at an old school friend’s wedding as we’d watched George avoid the advances of one of the bridesmaids. It was George who’d sat with me when Brian was called into the office late that Saturday. I’d drank a lot of tequila, cried on his shoulder about not loving Brian that much anyway and then he’d held my hair back as I’d chucked up the contents of my stomach behind the marquee. I’d refused to talk about it after that, assuring George that I did love Brian and it must have been the evil drink talking. But he knew me well enough to know when I was honest. I should have done something about it then.

“Instead, I’m thirty-one, Brian and I have decided we don’t love each other and I’ve moved out of his apartment. Our friends have picked sides, even though it was amicable, and my parents aren’t speaking to me because I’ve diverted from the plan and it must be my fault “because Brian is just the best, isn’t he?”. He was sensible, good at saving and had a brilliant job. What more could a woman want?

“Sex! I haven’t had sex in a year, and before then it was mediocre. That’s what a woman wants; incredible, mind-blowing, headboard breaking sex. The sort that makes you scream if you’re a screamer, that makes you take a photo of yourself in the toilets at work because you’re soaking wet, and that makes you stay in bed all day because you need to do it again and again. But that doesn’t exist beyond books. Right?

“And now, thanks to my godfather who is a university chancellor I’m back at university studying Sports Psychology and living in halls. Over the last week, I’ve felt ancient around these freshers. I reckon at least twenty of them have propositioned me, but I’m way too old to sleep with them, aren’t I?”

“That’s great, lovely, but why are you telling me this? I asked if you wanted another glass of wine,” the Aussie bartender, who’d been supplying all I needed to drown my sorrows that night, stated. Glasses clinked together as he tidied up the now quiet bar. It was depressing to be alone in a bar at eleven o’clock on a Sunday evening, but I was too drunk to care. I toyed with the hem of my wrap around summer dress. It hit just above the knee, except when the wind got up, and I flashed anyone lucky enough to be watching. That might explain the come-ons I had today. Maybe if it blew up in front of the bartender, it would turn him on. I contemplated giving him flash as a taster. “Except now I’m cutting you off. No more alcohol for you, in fact, it’s time you went home.”

“You don’t want to have sex with me either?” I slurred before pursing my lips and giving him a wobbly-eyed wink.

His eye roll wasn’t subtle. “I’m gay, and even if I wasn’t, you’re way too drunk. Is there someone I can call to get you home safely?”

Who did I have? Not Brian, not my parents, and hardly any friends. They’d all be in bed getting ready for the Monday morning grind. One name popped into my head, and I slid my phone over to Scott, the bartender with George’s name and number on the screen. Scott’s sleeves rose slightly to show his tattooed forearms.

“Oh, I like those,” I’d whispered before I dropped my head to my arms and let my eyes drift closed. My dark wavy long-bob hid the world from my eyes. I was so tired. It had been a manic couple of months since the worst day of my life, and now it was the end of Freshers week. I was exhausted keeping up with eighteen-year-olds while wondering how my life went so wrong. The chatter from the remaining patrons lulled me to sleep.

The next thing I remembered was the voice of an angel whispering in my ear. “Grace, can you hear me? Wake up, Grace.”

With his soft home counties accent, he called my name a bit louder. I let out a breath that made my full lips vibrate noisily. Then I drifted off and returned to the lovely dream I’d been having about a sexy, straight bartender who held me against the wall with his thick tattooed forearms.

“GRACE!” the angel had turned to a devil and was hollering in my ear.

I lifted my head slightly and side-eyed the devil. A grin spread across my face when the fluffy, brown hair came into view. “George, you’re here. When did you get here?” My enthusiasm was like that of a teenage girl at a pop concert. I turned to the barman. “Aussie dude, meet my friend George. He’s the tallest man in the world. How tall are you, George?”

“The same height I’ve been since school,” he replied with a roll of his eyes. I wasn’t so drunk I didn’t notice. I coughed into the sleeve of my denim jacket. Gross. When did my mouth fumes get so bad? My stomach dropped as I reached for my wine glass. Damn, it was empty.

I remembered I was talking to someone about my bestie. Of course, the hot bartender. “George peaked early. When we were at school people called us Midget and the Giant. Cause I’m 5 foot nothing to his 6 foot 4. Take off your shoes, and I’ll walk around in them like we used to. It will make Aussie Dude laugh. He needs a laugh; he’s had a hard day. This crazy drunk woman has been telling him her life story.” I giggled at myself.

What did they say about men with big shoes? Oh yeah, they had big feet. No, that wasn’t it. Something about their dicks? I side-eyed George’s crotch. It had to be massive. Why didn’t I know, though? He was my school bestie who at parties I’d share a bed with. He was too busy getting with any female with a pulse to look at tiny, yet curvy me. I’d once been in bed pretending to sleep, after my eighteenth birthday, when he’d had sex with some guy’s older sister on the floor. He thought I was asleep, but I could see what was happening through the reflection in the mirror. I’d never told him about that. He’d kneeled against her as she played with her clit, whispering filthy things as he thrust into her. As she’d screamed his name, he’d covered her mouth, probably worried they’d wake me. But it was his eyes tightly closed and teeth clenched as he came that I’d stared at. I’d wanked over that memory a couple of times at university, even after I met Brian.

George was squatting so that he’s grey eyes were level with mine. All my accounting friends had wanted to fuck him at some point, including my very married boss, but he had kept them at bay. From what I could gather, George had semi-regular secret hook-ups that had no connection to his everyday life. And these days if he wasn’t busy working he was busy exercising. He’d decided to do an ironman competition and was working to be at his peak fitness. “Grace, sweetheart, have you been telling the poor guy about your plan?”

At the reminder of the plan, my face fell. Oh no, I was going straight from happy, annoying drunk to maudlin drunk. “I told Scott that I broke the plan. Everything is broken, Georgey Boy.” I liked to call him that sometimes because I knew it annoyed him. It tended to be a drunk thing.

I dropped my head against the bar, not caring about the bang it made as it hit the wood. Surely that should hurt? I caught Scott’s whispers as he caught George up with what I’d told him. George knew most of it, and he’d been the one who’d convinced me to go back to university. Maybe I should take a leaf out of his book and be shagging my way around uni, but they were all so young! They didn’t even know how good Craig David was the first time around or what a pager was. I laughed loudly to myself, but I wasn’t sure why. I was bladdered. I sensed a couple of people looking over, but I ignored them and played with the cord from my burgundy dress instead. The V at my chest wasn’t low enough to be indecent. How low would I have to bend to show George my boobs? Would he even care? I was too horny, and he was my bestie. I flashbacked to him having sex on my floor. If he was as good at it as I remembered when he was eighteen, he must be Cassanova now. Maybe he’d be the one to give me that one-off experience?

“Okay, Grace. I’m not taking you back to uni now. You can stay at mine,” George helped me off the chair. I got a whiff of his hair, it smelt of grapefruit and was damp at the ends. Had I got him out the shower? I must have been horny because instantly I imagined him soaping himself up as the water cascaded down. What was going on in my head?

My feet hit the sticky floor. What had happened to my heels? As I looked up, I found myself staring at George’s chest. I reached out a hand. When did his pecs get so hard? Even his t-shirt couldn’t hide it.

“Damn, George. You’ve been working out.” I stroked a hand down his chest to his abs and giggled when he sucked in a breath.

“Looks like I’m going to have to deal with you the same way I did when we were at sixth form,” he said with a smile. He took my hand in his, and before I had the chance to ask if we were going to dance, he tossed me over his shoulder. “Let’s go, Midge.”

Ah, the sweet version of my nickname from school. “Don’t forget my purse, Big G,” I chuckled. At school, I’d started calling him Big G when he called me Midge. Our mates thought it was because I’d seen his cock, which according to his exes was big, girthy and every woman’s dream. “Or my shoes. And don’t let anyone see my knickers, they’re my favourites, Big G.”

I giggled again.

“Why do you keep laughing?” he replied, popping a hand on my bum to keep my dress down while striding to the door. The heat from his hands caressed my bum. I gave Scott a wave as we headed outside. The rumble of traffic filled the air.

“Because Mr Strong Man, I’ve just realised I’ve never seen the real Big G close up and I’m wondering how big he is. Can I see it tonight? I’m sure he’d cheer me up,” I tried to coo.

He gave my bum a tap, and I covered my mouth to hold back the moan.

“No, Grace, you can’t see my dick tonight. I’m sorry you’re not having the best time at the moment, but I think it will improve. And just so you know, I’ve missed drunk you. You’re always the most innocent, so when you get drunk, it’s even better. I’m glad you’re not with Brian, he didn’t deserve you,” he replied, but I wasn’t listening. There was something in the way he’d tapped my bum and then said dick that made me ache to have him inside me. Would he spank me if I asked nicely?

I don’t know if it was the thought of his dick or just the alcohol, but I must have passed out soon after with his voice repeating the word dick over and over in my head.

His Scent Lingers

“No, you tidy the house. I’ve got to go and buy food for dinner, which I expect I will be making again,” I shout as I slam our front door.

Is this what love means? Unreasonable levels of patience just to get through the day. It’s his friends, Harry and Chris, who are visiting and yet I’m doing all the work. My heels clack against the concrete as I storm down the steps.

It’s not enough that I’ve been to work and back by bus. No one gets the bus in my village except Herbert with the false teeth that fall out every time the bus goes around a corner. It’s like the movie Speed, but with the threat of getting slapped across the face by a pair of gnashers. Then there’s the Karen who I overheard on the phone this morning. She loudly told the caller about her latest wax appointment. Apparently the hair round her “vag”, her words, was as stubborn as her orgasm the other night. She used every toy known to man, including “the one that does both my holes” and still couldn’t get there. What with Herbert and Karen on both my journeys I should be horizontal in a hot bath with a large glass of something red right now.

But we promised Harry and Chris dinner so here I am.

I reach for the handle and offer a silent prayer to no one in particular. He promised he fixed my car today and that was why he hasn’t cooked dinner. If it’s still making that rattling noise I’ll be sneering through a night of social platitudes.

I yank open the door and suddenly I’m hit with his scent. A musky vanilla saturates the inside. With a deep breath I fill my lungs with him. I can taste him on my tongue. My anger flows out of my body and is replaced with something that makes my pulse race. I shiver as my skin tingles. The effect is immediate and so quick it nearly floors me.

Sliding into the driver’s seat I get highlights of our times together. His lips brushing against my neck, his fingertips grazing my inner thighs. Flashes of him tease me as notes of sandalwood and vanilla climb into body easing any remaining tightness in my shoulders. I swallow loudly as I recall the last time we were together; his naked body beneath me as I straddled in him in bed. He’s the perfect stress reliever.

He must have been working on my car all day, maybe he was inside it immediately after his shower. A wisp of memory fools me into thinking he’s sitting beside me. I turn to the passenger seat, but he’s not there. My car radiates with his presence. I start the engine and drive slowly down the road, my thoughts a blur as I head towards the shops.

I regret saying goodbye without kissing him hard enough to leave him thinking of me and what we might do when his friends leave. Why didn’t I stroke him slowly over his jeans or run my hands under his t-shirt? He’s been training a lot recently in preparation for a 10k. His body is tight enough to kiss each ab. The reminder of his endurance when he had me bent over his desk last week sends shivers down my spine.

A trickle of sweat runs down my chest when I remember his hands gripping my hips as he thrust inside me, but I don’t want to open the window to cool down. The air doesn’t deserve the heady smells fanning my lust. The scent of him fuels fantasies of going down on him as he pulls into a layby. His cock in my mouth as the lights from other cars flash by us, strangers oblivious to the agonising need in his eyes as he cums in my mouth.

I slam on my brakes, grateful that no one is behind me. Scrolling through my console I find the name he used when he put his number in my phone a couple of years ago. We met in a club, both of us merry. The number for Sexy Lobster starts ringing and I bite back a smile. The only thing sexy about his lobster costume that night was the body beneath it.

“What now?” he says gruffly, his voice on speaker throughout my car.

“I’m picking you up, meet me outside the house,” I respond without hint of my plans. “I need you in the car with me.”

“It can’t still be broken. There was no noise when I tested it,” he replies, mistaking the reason for my call. “It was the air con. I fixed it.”

I hang up without revealing my intentions.

Without delay I reverse back up the street. I stop so suddenly outside the house that my seatbelt yanks me into my seat. Impatiently I honk the horn.

He strides out, his brows furrowed. I breathe deeply again as he saunters towards the car. He’s only wearing jeans and a t-shirt and yet I’m salivating at the sight of my sexy lobster. I wriggle in my seat, my knickers tight against me reminding me how much I want him inside me. He rolls his eyes when I nod towards the passenger door. Knowing he’s annoyed turns me on more. I want him frustrated and taking me hard.

Thank god I wearing a floaty dress. I had no idea how easy it would make my evening adventure. The soft cotton rests against my naked thighs and I part them slowly while offering him a smile.

He sits down and slams my door. “What-”

I’m kissing him hard before he finishes his question. It’s barely a beat before he responds.  His hands fist my hair as my tongue parts his lips. I’m pulling at his t-shirt desperately dragging him closer. A moan vibrates the back of my throat and my thighs tremble against the leather seat. The gearstick bars my access to him.

Suddenly I pull back. He’s panting hard and his eyes are wide. The last time I caught him wild like this it was at his parent’s house and I surprised him coming out the bathroom. We had sex on the edge of the cabinet while everyone was downstairs playing Christmas games. His brother winked at us when we returned, and the wild look remained on my sexy lobster’s face all night.

I breathe in the lingering smell on his neck. It’s the same smell as the car, but at his natural musk combined with it my guttural moan is released.

“I want you inside me,” I whisper in his ear slipping my hand to his crotch.

His cock twitches against my hand and he licks his lip with the tip of his tongue. “Let’s go inside.”

“No, I want you in the car,” I reply reaching for his hand and sliding it up my thigh. “But not here. I know the best place. Are you up for it?”

I continue to slide his hand higher until it’s against the wetness that has seeped through my knickers. At his barest touch I whimper.

“Fuck yes,” he replies as he dips his hand inside my knickers. “But I get to do what I want with you.”

He fingers me gently, no doubt aware of our neighbour’s security cameras. Will any of them watch it back and enjoy what we’re doing? I’d love to give them a show one night, maybe next time.

His finger moves deeper. “Poppy, I get to do what I want,” he says again adding his thumb to stroke my clit. I can’t deny him anything when he rubs me there, not that I would deny him. His skills, especially with my body, are never ending.

I nod as he takes his finger out and pops it in his mouth. He sucks it hard before pulling it out with a pop. My heart thumps in my chest.

“Come on then, let’s get going. By the way, Harry and Chris cancelled as you left. We have all night.” His grin is broad as he secures his seatbelt.

His musky vanilla scent is everywhere as I speed back down the road.

Best Women’s Erotica

It’s just a mixture of black letters on white paper, how could I be that excited?

 

best women's eroticaAnd yet when I ripped open the package, which I suspected was another of my random eBay purchases, and found two copies of an anthology in which I’d had a story accepted I was bouncing. I thrust the book in front of my boyfriend’s face while simultaneously messaging a photo to my sisters. Why was this one anthology so special? I’ve been in other brilliant anthologies after all. But this was the first time I’d had a paperback that had my name in it. Gripping it tightly in my hand I realised it was a beautiful moment.

In recent months I haven’t written anything, not even a tweet. My day job has taken over my heart and my creativity. The doubt that has dogged my last couple of months destroyed my imagination and my focus.  I need to be bored if I’m going to come up with a story or something creative.  I’m the weirdo who was excited about an MRI a couple of years ago because I was looking forward to uninterrupted time with the heroines and dramas that I was developing. Holding a book that included a story I wrote was a nugget of joy.

But what is my story about? The theme of the anthology is outsiders and risk takers and my story, The Jump, is about the ultimate risk and the hornyness that comes from taking control.

It‘s about a sky dive. I did one several years ago. I’ve included a photo!

sexy skydive erotica Mine didn’t end like the one in my story. There was the same feeling of combatting fears and taking control though. Maybe you’ll see something of your story, as a risk taker or an outsider, when you read The Jump.

But, this anthology isn’t all about me. There are some hot, sexy and fascinating stories in Best Women’s Erotica of the Year (Best Women’s Erotica Series Book 4), which has been  brilliantly gathered and edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel. Here are the buy links and an excerpt from my story. I hope to be tweeting over the rest of this month my thoughts on each story and what I love most about each one. I can’t wait!

You can buy the ebook here, the paperback here or find more links via the Best Women’s Erotica site here.

The ebook and USA paperback are released 12th December 2018, the British paperback February 2019.

Excerpt from The Jump – Best Women’s Erotica

Poppy’s knuckles ached from the clench of her fists, her nails stabbing into her skin.

Steve took her hands in his, his touch enough to soften her grip and ease her hands open. “That’s one of the best motivations I’ve heard. But I’m going to need you to relax.” His fingers drew circles against her palms, sending shivers up her arms. “You’re angry, I get that. But you’re terrified too.”

Poppy opened her mouth to argue but he preempted her fight. “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about, but save the anger for when you get to the edge of the plane door. It will crush the terror.”

The reminder had her quaking.

Steve’s hands rubbed up and down her arms. “Do you trust me, Poppy?”

She hesitated. “Sure. What have I got to lose?”

“Your life.”

Her face fell.

“Sorry, I can be an ass. Let’s check your equipment.”

Steve helped her into her harness, checking the clips. The intensity of his brown eyes raised her heart rate further. Maybe the increasing adrenaline was pulling her arousal with it, but she basked in the attention he gave her, enjoying the straps rubbing against her crotch when he grabbed them roughly at her shoulders to check they were tight. Once again, his proximity excited her, his scent no longer reminding her of James but associating itself with the hottest guy she’d chatted with in a long time. It might be a blip, created as a reaction to the terror, but she indulged it. Gently, he popped the little hat on her head, his fingers stroking the nape of her neck when he helped her tuck her hair underneath.

To show he’d finished, he gave her butt a quick pat. “For luck. Let’s go. Everyone will be waiting.”

“I’m not going to die,” she whispered, conscious of his gloved hand tightening around hers.

Steve led her to the plane, her body shaking with every step.

“The tap of the butt helped,” she whispered in his ear.

“I hoped it might.”

“Just so you know, you have my permission to do whatever it takes to get me out of the plane.”

Dreams can come true

This week I achieved one of my dreams. It’s one I’ve had since I was 6 years old.

When I was younger there was a national four day farming type show near where we lived. Every year they would attempt to send up hot air balloons. If we were lucky, and the wind was blowing the right way, we’d see the balloons, sometimes they’d even go over our house. I would wait for hours outside my house each night in case I got the chance to see these balloons.

Being young and not so full of wisdom I thought these trips would only be for professionals and that normal people would never go in a hot air balloon. Although I hoped it might be different at the time I never imagined that one day I might have the opportunity to go in one myself.

hot air balloon burnerBut dreams can and do come true.

And this week they did.

As the basket lifted and drifted into the sky I confess I got quite teary. But they were happy tears. Yes, you have strangers chatting and the burner going occasionally but if you can ignore that then you are in your own world in the blue of the sky. No one can get to you, no work calls or social media madness getting to you. It is only you and the world around you.

The experience was one worth waiting for. It was not only mesmerising, it gave me the opportunity to reflect on how beautiful and calming it is when you’re up in the skies. It was what I’ve always wanted.

balloon shadowAs we were heading to the skies lots of children waved us off. They jumped around excitedly, wearing their school uniforms. I’d like to think that as they watched us go they were having their own dreams and thinking of what their lives may be like in the future.

You may have your own dreams. Writing is another dream of mine. I confess I was thinking about characters who could have a balloon ride in one of their stories. Have you found yourself doing an activity and during it have attempted to remember what all your senses are experiencing so that you can use it in your writing?

For me all these things help my writing; whether it’s sitting in a coffee shop, going to a sports event or having a night in a club. I’ve written about all these things. Don’t underestimate the power of living as a writer rather than focusing everything on getting those words down.

Don’t forget to dream either; whether it’s about writing or other things in your life.

I’m going to go and whisper in the ear of six year old me now and tell her that it’s okay to dream big because 30-something Rebecca is making sure they come true. She’s going to be so happy.

dreams hot air balloon

 

Tell me your dreams too, either here or via my Facebook page or Twitter page.

Camp Nano Winner 2018 – Things I Learnt

I did it! I completed Camp Nanowrimo, I’m officially a winner.

You can find out more about Camp Nanowrimo here. Reaching my goal, i.e. writing 50k words in one month, was one of the most difficult things I’ve taken part in as a writer.

Camp Nanowrimo learnt

Let me tell you why:
  • I haven’t written more than 10,000 words on one project for nearly two years.
  • I chose to write a YA genre novel – I’ve never written a YA piece before
  • I had a ridiculously busy month in my day job, launching a project I’ve been leading on for 6 months
  • 6 months ago (i.e. when the day job changed) I lost my creativity

 

Why am I telling you this? Because I’ve learnt some things from my first camp experience, things that may help you too:

I can’t write every day

That’s not to say I didn’t but I found it difficult, nearly pushing myself to illness to make sure I was writing my set amount. I’ve read on twitter about how writers should write every day as it helps you create something. It doesn’t help me! I need time to think out the next section I’m going to write. By constantly writing I can’t find the space to think, tease out and then solve the problems. Which brings me to another point.

I need more than writing in my life

Shock, horror, did I say that out loud? I like to formulate plot, work out points, meet up with friends and discuss writing but I also like having a life that isn’t about writing. That’s not to say writing doesn’t filter through to the other parts of my day but the last month I ditched a lot of things to get the novel written; exercise, socialising, sleep. I’ll be spending the next month trying to lose the weight I gained during the month!

I can write more than I thought I could

I asked my boyfriend for his thoughts on what I might have learnt and this was his contribution. It’s easy for me to see the negatives but he’s right. After the first week I didn’t believe I could achieve the 50k goal, after the second week I didn’t believe I could achieve it, even up until a couple of days before I finished I knew it was touch and go. As a writer you might get negative reviews and lack of interest from publishers but ultimately for me no one brings my writing down like I do and I need to remind myself of my strengths and what I’ve achieved instead of what I haven’t.

Never underestimate the importance of chatting with other writers

There was one particular moment when I was sitting on a train, knowing that was my best time to write and yet the motivation had disappeared. I chatted with another writer on twitter, Anne Pyle, about needing to write and she gave me the energy and focus I needed. Within 10 minutes I was back on it. I wrote another 2,000 words that day. I don’t think I would have written another word if it hadn’t been for her.

I love writing

In the last year when my creativity left me I was unsure whether I should focus on my day job rather than writing. But this month reminded me that I do adore writing, even when it’s a struggle to get pen to paper. I love channelling things I see and imagine into writing. It’s a great place to work through my frustrations too.

And a last thing I want to share. The day after I finished my 50k novel an email popped into my inbox. A short story I wrote last year has been accepted into an anthology.  What a way to end the month!

What did you learn from either this or a previous Nanowrimo? Leave your comments here or on my Facebook page or Twitter page.

I’m Back aka What Happened to my Creativity?

creativity

I’m doing my first Camp Nanowrimo and I’m loving it… when I’m managing to find the time to fit it in and not get stressed!

For those of you wondering what I’m talking about nanowrimo refers to national writing month, although people from all over the world do it. Read more here.

The aim is to focus on a writing/editing project. You set your own target and get on with it. You also bunk with other virtual cabin mates and spur each other on. I’m in a cabin with lots of amazing people including Jolie Vines , (who I love tweeting with and has great book recommendations), Zoe Ashwood and ElleThorpe. But there are other fantastic people in

the bunk too

I didn’t join until a week before because I wasn’t sure I could fit it in and for another reason.

Over the last six months my creativity and ability to write has been as dead as a dodo. I’ve thought about writing, talked about writing, tweeted about writing but nothing has been written. And it has terrified me. How can I call myself a writer if I can’t write?

Dreams

Things started to change about a month ago. I started to dream again.

dreams

By this I don’t mean I developed goals and aims. At night I started to have dreams. I’ve always dreamed and remembered my dreams but for the last six months nothing. But then one night I had a vivid dream and then, a couple of nights later, another. The dreams started to come. Some were terrifying and sickening but yet brought a lot of happiness because that meant my creativity was coming back! It’s had some similarities to a tortoise but hopefully that means I will reach my writing goals too as we know the tortoise won in the end, even with his slow pace.

I’ll tell you more about what I’m writing in my next blog post but for now I wanted to share my fears from the last six months and say that things can change with time. If you’re struggling with writing or your creativity leave me your comments here or on my Facebook or Twitter page.

I always thought writer’s block meant not having ideas, which I’ve still had in the last six months. For me writer’s block was an inability to put words to page and develop an idea. Let’s hope that lull is gone for good. “I’m back, Baby”.

To read more of my writing blogs click on the Blogging category on the right of the page or read one entry here.

Don’t Speak

The First Message

You’ve been waiting to see if you’ll match that person you like. Finally you do. What do you say in that first message?

Here’s a blog post about some of the worst first messages I’ve had.

sexting messageDon’t do this, just don’t.

“Hey, is it wrong to want to physically pick you up and abuse you? X”

(Who puts a kiss on the end of a message like that?)

 

Fetish Reveal So Early?

Him: Hi x

Me: Hello

Him: How are you? What size shoe are you? x

(He went on to reveal his foot fetish, I stepped away. Don’t give away your personal fetish so quickly.)

Know Your Audience

Him: Are you as innocent as you look?

Me: Yes

(Well they don’t need to know the truth yet do they?)

Keep it in Your Pants

Potential: What undies are you wearing sexy? x

(Not even a “Hello. Are you having a nice day?” How rude.)

desk messageDesk fetish?

Him: I’m thinking about having over a desk so I can tease you with my mouth and cock before grabbing you and fucking you senseless.

(Firstly, what the fuck? But then I start to wonder, did he miss the word me out of the sentence, i.e. is he thinking about having me over a desk? That would make more sense unless he’s thinking about “having over a desk”. Like is he going to invite the desk over for a date too? Maybe you can find online dating for those who want to romance desks.)

Why do I Bother?

Him: I know what you like.

Me: What is that?

Him: You like to be pushed over a table and fucked hard and dirty from behind.

(I was shocked by how quickly that escalated. I was hoping he was going to say lemon drizzle and ask for me out for cake.)

Some don’t know what they’re letting themselves in for?

Him: Cute and feisty, eh? Sounds good. Kinky also? 😉

Me: Sadly not, surprisingly normal.

Him: I’ve been normal all my life, but part of me wants to try new things. Not like proper crazy stuff, just stuff that’s a bit more naughty, you know?

Me: You’re going to have to give me an example…

(My curiosity really is a cross to bear.)

Him: In my Google-based research, the most popular things to try out seem to be toys, spanking, strap-ons, golden showers, threesomes. So I’d guess I’d start with some of them.

(He then went on to tell me that he was pretty horny to which my unhelpful response was…)

Me: Ah you’ve got the Saturday horn! Fair enough. Although strange that it’s suddenly made you want to have a woman wee on you before she puts a strap on and does you up the arse.

(The conversation ended not long after that, it turns out he just wanted a threesome)

This Guy

Him: Hey how are you? Fancy a chat?

Me: Hello. I’m good thanks. How are you?

Him: I’m ok thanks. Do women purposely wait for blokes to send the first message?

(Apparently by chat he meant using me as the oracle for all women)

Me: I have to admit that I do, sorry. Have you had a good week?

Him: You must be on here to meet someone so you have to put effort into it

(Berating a woman so quickly into chatting isn’t the best way to seduce her.)

Me: I see your point

Him: This dating malarkey is rubbish

(Why am I still talking to him? And yet I continue.)

Me: Well yeah but how else are you going to find what you want? What brought you to this site?

Him: To find someone but there’s too much competition and it’s hard to get a look in with the women you fancy.

(I’m not surprised if you talk to them like this, unless he’s only talking to me because the ones he likes won’t give him time)

Me: Maybe you need to be creative with the things you say to them or just funny and honest.

Him: You can’t be yourself over text women must be stupid if they think you can

(Yep, he just called me and a lot of other women stupid.)

Me: I guess I’m one of the stupid ones then.

(He proceeded to carry on with his rant. I won’t bore you with it. My recommendation was that he took some time out from dating)

 

flirt dateSorry

But then I’m no one to judge. Some of my first messages have been cringe! And for that I apologise to any guy I messaged first. It didn’t end well.

What have been the worst first messages you’ve sent or received. Go on, get it off your chest, you know you want to. Don’t forget to add them here or on my Facebook page or Twitter page.

Did you know I write erotic romance? You can find my stories either by going to the books page on this site or by clicking here.

Corrupted – A New Erotic Anthology

Do you want to get corrupted?

I love submitting to anthologies. The call to write something different is a test of my imagination and the Corrupted call was no different.

What has liberated you? Has society suggested it corrupted you instead?

Online dating is a topic close to my heart, as you may have guessed from by blog. We hear society telling us that it’s caused people to sleep around more. In 2015 it was reported that the dating apps and sites were to blame for an increase in STIs. But these sites and apps have been liberating too. It’s easy to think of it as a danger or a distraction but to be a faceless person behind a computer screen or an app means we can be ourselves too. Instead of being judged by our looks or outward appearance, which is common when in a pub or a club,  the first impression we make includes our personalities!

That was my inspiration.

But there was more too. Before I continue let me share a little about the Corrupted anthology.

Corrupted coverCorrupted

Since the beginning of time, everything that has promised to liberate women has also been accused of corrupting them: suffrage, trousers, the pill, and learning to drive, and that’s just to start with.

In this erotica collection, women reclaim or recognise their power in myriad ways, and it’s not always pretty. From femdom dynamics to BDSM, boardrooms, and benchwarmers, Corrupted comprises a startling cross-section of stories defining what it means to be a woman in the modern world.

Edited by, and featuring, Charlie Powell. Corrupted contains contains ten powerful stories by Vanessa de Sade, Rebecca Chase, Annabeth Leong, Sonni de Soto, Robin Juliet, Kiki DeLovely, Byron Cane, Erin Horáková and Zak Jane Keir. It’s published by Sexy Little Pages.

Her Gateway

Before the submission call came through I remember reading an article about sex for the disabled. Is sex different for those who have less limbs, who can’t walk, who have no physical feelings below their waist?

While I will never know what it is like for someone with those disabilities I do know what online dating did for me when it came to sex. I found it liberating to be judged by my flirting techniques and ability to make someone laugh rather than how my body looked. For the first time I could chat to guys without my insecurities eating away at me. For me online dating had major moments of liberation, read my blog post about Mr Fumble here to find out more about my inspiration for this story.

Something else inspired me too. I was also fed up of reading stories about the same heroines. Where were the stories about people who didn’t fit the typical erotic romance stereotype?

rebecca chase corrupted her gateway

Her Gateway was born from all of the above and more.

Tessa has been in a wheelchair since she was young. Her disability has infiltrated every area of her life but so has her resilience. However, there’s one thing missing. She doesn’t know what sex is like. Being desired and feeling sexy are foreign concepts to her.

Online dating has changed everything. With the apps she can swipe to her heart’s content, searching for the guy that she might trust enough to give her the sexual experience she’s dreamed of.

Not only has she found him but as the story begins he’s waiting at her front door. The next 24 hours will change her life forever. What sort of change will it be and has it been worth longing for all this time? Could Mike be the man to make all her fantasies come true?

To understand what liberation can mean in this setting you’ll have to read the story, which you can buy here.

But before you go here is a teaser.

An Excerpt from Her Gateway

“I was wondering…” She tried not to smirk when she saw him raise his eyebrows at her long drawn out words and seductive tone. “If you’d tell me one of those fantasies. You know, what have you thought about doing with me and exactly where was your hand when you imagined it?” With a smirk, she looked at his crotch and gave him a wink.

Mike chuckled his amusement, stepping back with an exaggerated sigh. “Exactly where you think it was. Okay, now which fantasy shall I share first? How about the one where I hold you up against the wall. I’m stronger than I look and you’re no fragile doll. I think you might enjoy some different positions and locations.”

She nearly spluttered at his words. Mike had offered her more than she’d realised could be available. Once more she took in his features. His sexiness didn’t just come from his looks. He exuded it like most people sweated. A nonchalant air surrounded him but it wasn’t because he didn’t care what happened. Tessa got a sense that he’d been through a lot in his thirty years, most he’d probably not share, even though she’d poured out her heart and insecurities to him. But now he seemed to be in a comfortable place. They’d only been chatting for a couple of months and yet she could see many aspects to him; his past was a telling blemish on his skin.

That was her hope too, that one day she would be fully comfortable in her own skin. A sexual being who men desired and even if they didn’t, the knowledge of that wouldn’t lessen her. But there was a goal she had to reach first.

The thoughts of conquering this barrier were what might have caused her to clear her throat and announce her idea louder than necessary. “Maybe we should talk in bed.”

The heat from her cheeks blazed when he rose his eyebrows, especially when he added an amused smile.

Beckoning him closer, she placed her hand in his, noticing that clasping him tightly made it more difficult to tremble. He squeezed her hand gently before letting it go so that she could lead him towards her bedroom.

Ask Me To Stay

Love pagerLet me set the scene…

It’s nearly twenty years ago, a nineties pop ballad, that you’ve only heard in “remember when” radio shows (I mean you, B*witched), is playing as I sit in my bootcut trousers and strappy top. People are still recreating the famous Rose and Jack scene whenever they get near the bow of a boat and people relied on pagers on a night out.

More importantly than this my life is on the cusp of something new.

Two people, and by people I mean fictional TV characters, are about to come into my life and change it forever.

One will teach me about empowerment, kicking butt and that females can be and are hilarious. And not because they’re airhead bimbos who are the joke but because they’re fucking awesome. They can even be the protagonist in major television shows, books and life. Buffy Summers burst onto my television and changed everything.

But this post is about another nineties character. He taught me that I like bad boys – not the ones who set fire to things or damage lives – but the ones who underneath all the bravado have a heart. They make us laugh, they hurt when awful things happen, they struggle through the crap life throws at them and can be a bit useless. BUT they love with all they have and when the situation calls for it they step up and kiss the girl.

Step forward Pacey Witter

A man who has been number 1 on my list of guys I want to be with for nearly 20 years.

Pacey Love ninetiesLike Joey I didn’t appreciate him at first. I thought he was an idiot who’d had an affair with his teacher. It wasn’t until series 3 that I fell for him and I’ve never looked back.

When I write stories I can see that there’s a little bit of Pacey popping up all over the place. He comes through my writing in the humour, the cheeky glances and the teasing nature of many of my protagonists. Sometimes his character is revealed through the broken nature of those I write about, especially when they slowly redeem themselves and become whole, with little mistakes along the way.

I’m not ashamed of the impact the show had on my life; it taught me through it’s beautiful scenery and unnecessarily adult language about unrequited love, betrayal, death, prejudice, suffering and how the first kiss can be terrifying no matter who you are. This is something both myself and my characters can testify to.

This weekend one of my best friends, A, is getting married. She was my “rival” for Pacey’s love – I know how ridiculous that sounds but I was a teenager! At least I wasn’t weeping about my love for Brian Harvey from East 17… I know someone who did though.

The contest between myself and A brought us closer and I look forward to being able to share her special day with her. Also, it means Pacey is all mine now too!

So I owe a debt of gratitude to Dawson’s Creek, its creators and especially Joey and Pacey, for teaching me about love and giving me a best friend for life. Joey and Pacey got their happy ever after and in doing so let me see why romance is a key part of everything I write.

Happy 20 year anniversary to their first episode!

Don’t forget to tell me about your first TV love via my Facebook page or Twitter page. They don’t have to be from the nineties but they have to have been significant.