When my girlfriend and I went out for Sunday brunch this weekend, I ordered something I’d never tried before–Eggs Benedict.

“The first of my Audrey and Lawrence stories,” I told her, “starts with a joke about Eggs Benedict.”

She popped a red grape in her mouth. “What’s the joke?”

I didn’t want to tell her, at first. My mind was barraged by images of my past and my bed before she was in it, and I remembered the first time I heard the joke. I was young then, like Audrey. Like Audrey, I welcomed a married man into my apartment every Sunday morning. It was from him I heard this joke.

Excerpt from “Kiss the Cook” by Giselle Renarde,
From Audrey & Lawrence: The Complete Collection

“How are Eggs Benedict like oral sex?”

“I don’t know, Lawrence. How are Eggs Benedict like oral sex?”

“You don’t get either at home,” he chuckled.

My stomach plunged six stories. You don’t get either at home? I guess he meant it as some kind of a veiled compliment, but still…Lawrence wasn’t usually so crass. Even if the insult wasn’t aimed at me, it still hurt to hear him say something so mean-spirited.

“Groan,” I said, pretending to find his joke merely innocuous. Why did I always do that? Pretend to be perpetually un-offended, I mean. Kissing my way across Lawrence’s fleshy abdomen, I nuzzled his pubic hair from top to balls, taking in that quintessentially male aroma of spent cock. Pure sex. Now that was good stuff! What a bad joke, though. So bad I couldn’t relax after the rather incredible blowjob I’d just given him. This time, I had to say something.

“I don’t like it when you criticize your wife,” I confessed, running my fingers through those curly greying hairs.

Shaking his bald but beautiful head like he was scrambling eggs in there, Lawrence looked down at me.

“It’s very unbecoming,” I continued.

 “I don’t know what you mean,” he claimed. He claimed.

 “Eggs Benedict? Look, I know you and…” I tried to say Ruth, but it just wasn’t happening. His wife’s name was the only taboo word in our repertoire. “I know you and she don’t have a satisfying sex life…”

 “It’s not a matter of satisfying or unsatisfying,” Lawrence interrupted. “There is no sex life. It doesn’t exist.”

 The jealousy I’d felt only a moment earlier was eagerly consumed by schadenfreude. I was the only girl for Lawrence. Audrey LeBreton plus Lawrence Galloway equals (heart) 4-ever! At least that’s what I chose to believe.

As I poked my egg to release a runny yoke into its base of toasted baguette and Swiss, I pushed my past aside and looked into the face of my future. Sweet smiled. When I’d told her the Eggs Benedict joke, she was quiet for a moment. And then she laughed and said, “That’s true.”

Should I take that as a joke?

Giselle Renarde
Canada just got hotter!
www.gisellerenarde.webs.com

Find out more about Audrey & Lawrence: The Complete Collection at the Audrey & Lawrence website! Audrey & Lawrence is available now for pre-order, and for purchase March 28th, 2010 from eXcessica Publishing.

People have said that middle age and getting old is a state of mind and they are both wrong and right about that. Your body is going to age and there is nothing you can do to stop it. Even a botoxed body is still aging. The surgeon has just shaken out the wrinkles as you would a sheet from the dryer. But what about your mind, your brain? As a woman of “a certain age” I can tell you that some point my brain stopped having birthdays. Yep. Totally stopped maturing. I see that gray hair when I look in the mirror and my brain rebels. It does not believe that is me.

This is most forcefully brought to my attention when I sit some place and people watch. Or more accurately, ogle men. I sat at lunch one day with a co-worker, she with her back to the window, in a trendy (and really yummy) new burger place called Habit. Behind her head, a plethora of men passed by. My brain, which still thinks like a 35 year old, had my eyes following the hot bodies of the men in the twenty and thirty something age range.  My libido, which also thinks it’s thirty-ish, created little fantasies in my head.

Hot dude in suit pants and a shirt with the sleeves rolled up, looks up at the window to find me staring at him. A slow smile curves his mouth. His eyes glitter with some emotion I can’t name and don’t care to analyze just yet. He rolls his sleeves higher and my eyes follow the movements of his long-fingered hands, the ripple of muscle in his forearms. He flexes his shoulders and the shirt tightens over biceps that I know my fingers can’t wrap around.

He sits down at one of the outside tables and unwraps his burger, his gaze never leaving mine. He bites and chews. I see the strong column of his neck flex with the movement of his jaw. He flicks his tongue at the corner of his lips, capturing a drop of sauce. He swallows and his Adam’s apple bobs with a slow, seductive movement, the skin of his throat rippling slightly. My breath catches in my throat as he leans forward, opening his mouth, white teeth gleaming, the pink of his tongue beckoning…His fingers squeeze the burger as his teeth sink into it. My panties dampen…and my co-worker starts packing up her trash so we can leave. Lunch is over.

No matter how many birthdays my body has, my brain has stopped having them. What I find attractive in a man hasn’t changed from my thirties. My fellow FAB blogger Tess MacKall has a thing for silver foxes. The only silver fox to ring my bells is Anderson Cooper and he’s prematurely gray. When I look at men, I realize that my tastes haven’t changed in lo these many years. I’ve gone from being a cougar to a dirty old woman. Well, not really. I’m not really old enough for that yet, but I can see that my brain is headed in that direction with regard to men.

What I find attractive in a man just has not matured along with me. I’m not sure what that means. I’ve always been a cougar, attracted to men younger than me. Oddly, men my age and older have never shown any attraction to me either. It’s always been the younger guys who’ve hit on me. There’s something very odd about how the universe works with this stuff. If I believed in karma, I’d say it was at work here.

So what happens when your body gets older but your brain doesn’t? For starters, the pickins get mighty slim when it comes to sexual partners. Sure, there are some hot thirty something guys out there who dig women in their forties and there are a lot of guys who will tell you age means nothing. Of course, age truly doesn’t mean anything to their cocks. If you get it hard, you just better be prepared to take care of it whether you’re ten years older than the guy or twenty.  Men are usually practical about a hard on. If they don’t like your gray hair, they’ll fist their hands in it and close their eyes. Dicks do not always see gray hair. Thank God for that. Like I said, if you can get their cock hard, at that point they do not care if you’re as old as their mom. They just want you to deal with the consequences of your actions.

I guess that will be my new thing. Don’t worry about age. Worry about whether you can arouse that hot younger guy. Sometimes, it’s not about looks but about actions. Not all men (or women) care about age or looks so seek out men who are all about attitude and sexuality. And enjoy those lunch hours where you can sit and ogle the manflesh. After all, there’s no law against letting your immature brain strip them naked.

I used to know, but I don’t anymore.

Fifteen years ago I could predict exactly the type of person I would develop a crush on. I knew every last characteristic. That person would be:

• Male
• Healthy & Fit
• Aged 48-60
• Bald
• Highly Intelligent/Academic
• Refined Manners and Tastes

Think Patrick Stewart. Yeppers, that was the man for me. Every time a man like that crossed my path, I’d melt into a gooey puddle of crush-juice.

Ten years ago, I noticed a shift in my crushes. Bald men stopped turning my head. A different type of person started attracting my attention:

• Female
• Artsy/Quirky
• Aged 18-30
• Small in Stature
• Eclectic Tastes
• Dark Hair

My rockabilly babe, pin-up model Bernie Dexter, should give you some idea of the kind of girl I’m talking about.

Now…I just don’t know anymore! I can’t predict when a crush will come along and what she’ll look like or act like. It’s like there are absolutely no commonalities anymore, except that I haven’t had a crush on a boy in a good ten years. What is my “crush type”? I’ve been mulling this over for a couple days now and…I’ve got nothing!

I mean, I think about my girlfriend of two years, and she doesn’t fit into any known category. Sweet’s:

• MTF Transsexual
• Tall
• Redhead
• “Curvy”
• Generous
• Wise Woman
• Geeky/Trekkie
• Tells Really Bad Jokes

Mind you, I don’t remember ever really having a crush on Sweet. I knew there was something special about her, and I fell in love. Or maybe I did have a crush on her…and maybe I still do. I certainly do find myself fantasizing about kissing her while I’m dozing on the subway. I still think about her all the time. Every time I’m in a store, I can’t resist buying her a present, even if it’s just a bottle of iced tea.

But that doesn’t help me in establishing my crush type. When I think about the women I’ve crushed on over the past five years, I see no similarities. Maybe we only see the similarities in retrospect. Maybe five years from now, it’ll all be clear.

What about you? Are there certain physical qualities you know you’ll be attracted to in any given person? Or do the physical qualities have to accompany personality qualities? Can you clearly identify the kind of person you’ll develop a crush on?

What’s your crush type?

Bright Blessings,
Giselle Renarde
Canada just got hotter!
www.gisellerenarde.webs.com

I thought I’d be a little silly this month and talk about something different than my books and writing; sweet and naughty little crushes.  We’ve all had them.  From the boy sitting next to us in class to a dashing actor on TV, crushing on other people is something we just can’t help ourselves from doing.  I married one of my crushes, but I’ve also had two or three…or a hundred, on those untouchable celebrity hotties, and I have a feeling I’m not alone.  And being the nosey thing that I am, I can’t help but wonder who others are crushing on or have crushed on in the past.  I guess I’ll get the ball rolling by going first.

My very first celebrity crush was….are you ready?  He-Man.  Okay, I know he’s not really a celebrity, what with being animated and all, but I was only five-years-old.  I didn’t understand what a crush was, but there’s no doubt there was something about that burly muscle-bound man running around in furry underwear that started to shape my mind into what it is today.  Scary, huh?  But as I’ve learned, I’m not the only one who’s had a crush on a fictitious figure.  Some months ago, I was given an assignment by my editor to learn more about yaoi.  I’m not a yaoi virgin, but I’m not wholly up on it either.  I enjoy anime and manga, never really spent much time on websites about it, but with my assignment (which I’m still working on), I did some exploring.  You know what I uncovered?  There are roughly one billion people out there who claim Naruto as theirs and if you touch him, they will kill you.  So apparently my crush on He-Man when I was five isn’t such on odd thing after all.

With that said, now we’ll move onto major crush number two.  As I worked my way to pre-adolescence, many other fleeting crushes came and went, none of real impact.  Then I got hit with a big one.  Who was he, you ask?  He was…*takes a deep breath*…Tom Cruise.  There!  I said it!  I don’t know why that was harder to confess than He-Man, but it was.  I was around eleven, twelve-years-old, and he was reigning Hollywood at that time with movies like Cocktail, Rain Man, and Days of Thunder.

But as with any crush, it faded quickly and without remorse.  Now that I’m a big girl, I don’t even care much for his movies.  The last one I saw was The Last Samurai and that was more because I’m interested in Japanese history.  So, just like after He-Man, once I tossed Tommy to the curb, only sporadic crushes hit. 

Then I entered early teenage-hood and that’s when huge crush number three hit.  Are you ready for him?  Jon Bon Jovi.   Yeah, I can see some of your smirks.  I can also see some of you blushing because you agree with me.  Now here’s the thing with Jon, I had known his music for several years prior, and I enjoyed it, but never paid much attention to him because he had way too much hair going on.  I know, that’s total blasphemy, but we all have our types and he didn’t become mine until he chopped it all off for the Keep the Faith album.  When I saw the new restyled Jon Bon Jovi, my young jaw dropped.  Then he sang “Bed of Roses,” and yeah, the crush was on. 

Ol’ Jonny was a pretty long crush for me.  I’d always loved music, but now I found myself appreciating the artists just as much, and maybe that’s why I crushed on him for as long as I did, I admired his talent and it was more than just his looks.  This appreciation of music and the people who create it has carried through to this day, which certainly influenced me choosing to write about rock stars in my novels, Conquest and its sequel, No Fear. 

But it wasn’t long before even Jon Bon Jovi didn’t do it for me anymore.  I hit that age where it became more entertaining hanging out with boys I could put my hands on.  And so the crushes shifted into teenage puppy love until I found true love.  After that, the crushes came to an end other than stopping to think, “Hmm, he’s hot.”  I thought my days of celebrity crushes were over…and then I heard him sing…and then I saw him.  Who is he?  Who is graced with the honor of not only being my adulthood crush, but also the record holder for the longest one?  I’ll tell you.  His name is Gackt.

And you should hear him sing

So I see some of the expressions on your faces have turned to confusion, and that’s alright.  He’s not a household name here in America.  He is, however, a popular rock star in Japan.  But here’s the thing about Gackt.  Honestly, I don’t know if what I have for him could be called a crush in the truest sense of the word.  A crush by definition is almost like a small obsession.  You strive to learn every little bitty thing you can about the person.  In the case of a celebrity crush, you follow their work with an intense passion.  Doing all of that takes a lot of time, more than I have to spare between family, deadlines, and new stories.  So while I say it’s a crush, I suppose the truth of it is that’s it’s really more of an appreciation for his talent because I truly believe he’s one of the most gifted living musicians.  But do I think he’s hot?  Hell freakin’ yes!

As we mature, that’s what crushes turn into for many of us; appreciation.  The need fades to know every detail about a person we’ll never meet fades in favor of cherishing those who are truly a part of our lives.  But those crushes I had when I was young will always make me smile, both at the feelings I remember having and my silliness over them.  Now as I draw my twisted confessional to a close, I wonder what crushes you’ve had.  Is there a celeb you’re head over heels for, or that you used to be?  What about a fictional crush?  That perfect person in a romance novel, that character in a movie who was more appealing than the actor playing them?  Or was it someone in “real” life?  The high school hottie who you so wanted to ask out, but never did.  Even if you want to keep your crush private, I understand and just hope thinking about them has given you a grin like reminiscing about mine has for me.

This little piece of fun today was brought to you by S.J. Frost

Do you remember your first love?

I think I was 13 when I first fell in love with Allen. He was my 15-year-old next-door neighbor and had the most soulful deep brown eyes and golden blond hair. He played all the sports, had tons of friends, and went to the ‘big’ school, lol. And for the longest time, I didn’t think he even knew I existed.
Way back then, I went to a catholic school in New Brunswick, New Jersey. I was in the middle school, and he was a FRESHMAN in the bigger building just next door. The students over there always looked like they were having so much fun . So, I loved him from afar for a year and a half, and he never knew.
Then came the summer before my freshman year.
Suddenly, he’d stop in front of my house if I was out there or say hello through the window if we happened to catch each other’s eye. Gradually, he began to walk ‘down-street’ with me or come up on the porch to sit and talk for a while at night.
I was beside myself. This Adonis I’d been lusting after for almost two years had finally noticed I was alive. Unfortunately, I became ‘one of the guys’ to him. We hung out all the time, went everywhere together, but he never gave me even the tiniest indication that I was more than a pal. *sigh* Still, you never heard me complain, lol.
August came, and I was really excited about finally going to the ‘big’ school, a freshman. YEAH!

Whoa!! Put on the brakes, missy. Not so fast.
My mother came into my room and dropped the bomb that was sure to decimate my life. “We are moving to Vermont.”
VERMONT?!? Are you effin kidding me? We’re leaving this great city, all my friends, and ALLEN for some hick town in some long forgotten state? Really?

Life was over as I knew it. I was heartbroken, crushed, destroyed, distraught, devastated and any other adjective you can think of. I may have even been a little MAD!
The day we left, I sat in the doorframe of my mother’s VW bus (his name was Willie, but that’s another story), waiting for her to finish up inside the house—okay fine, I may have been sulking—when across the back lawn saunters Allen in all his golden glory. I swear, he always had a golden aura surrounding him. Oh, why am I being punished so greatly?
“So, this is it, huh?” he states with all the esteemed knowledge of the older man he was.
“Yup. It sucks,” I reply. I so don’t want to talk about this with him because I know I’ll start bawling like a baby.
And here it comes folks…
Since I’m here writing this, I obviously didn’t die…but I damn near did. And as I’m remembering all this and jotting it down, the butterflies are swarming in my tummy and my chest is constricting. I shit you not; the memory still gets to me. Wow.
“It sure does suck, Debbie,” he replies. “But I’ll always love you, and I’m gonna miss you forever.”
Before his words even registered in my foggy little brain, he leaned in and planted a 90 second kiss on my lips, came up for air, and goes in again. At this point, I know I’ve transported to some other realm of reality, because when his lips touched mine this time, his hands cradled my head and his tongue begged for permission to enter.
PERMISSION GRANTED, HELLLOO.
The kiss must have lasted for hours—okay well, until we couldn’t breathe any more. Then he just turned and walked away. (Not the last time that happened to me, but alas that’s another story as well.)
WHAT??? I mean, come on! He loved me? Just kissed me like I’ve never been kissed before or since and now he’s gone and I’m leaving for some god forsaken cold-ass country backwoods state and I’ll never see him again? Did it even happen? I touch my hand to my mouth and the moistness remains. Hell yeah it happened.
NOT FAIR I TELL YOU!!
And so began the story of my life. Yes, I am happily married, and yes, I survived the heartbreak (that one and the others to follow) though I don’t know how. But I will never forget my golden boy neighbor and the irony that was our relationship.
As an aside, the following summer I went to the Jersey shore to visit a friend and her family for a couple of weeks. The day before I was to leave, I saw Allen’s sisters on the beach. (Oh, did I forget to mention he had sisters?) Anyway, I asked them if he was there and they said he was working and wouldn’t make it to the beach till the following night. UGGHH!!
I have so often wondered where he is now, what he’s doing, and who the lucky woman is that grabbed his heart. But I like to tell myself I was the first one who had it. Ah, well.
So, who was your first love?

Home life of late has totally sucked. The 18 year old is out to prove me wrong when I told the other two he was the good one. They always told me to beware of the quiet one. Turns out they were right. My 26 year old daughter is reveling in the fact that she is now the good one.
Work has been a bear. Everyone seems to be on vacation at the same time, putting extra work on those who are left. Now everyone is stressing that we are going to be open on Sunday. With all the nurses combined it turns out to be about 2-3 Sundays a year each nurse will have to work. Come on now, I may not like it, but I can handle it. I’d rather do that than stand in the unemployment line.
The husband…good Lord where do I start. He works with his father and brother in a family business. To say he’s been stressed is an understatement. I’m waiting for the guy to pop an artery and stroke out. He has a permanent scowl line on his forehead, his face is always red. If the bags under his eyes sag any further, he’s going to have to lift them up to eat.
His shoulders always look so tense and he blows up at the slightest provocation. One morning he’d left before me as he always does and when I went but the small country store in our town 20 minutes later, his truck was there. On our way out of town to drive to Florida that night I mentioned him still being at the store this morning, just as a conversation started, since I don’t ask how his day was anymore.
Well holy shit, you’d think I’d accused him of robbing a bank. He blew up. Yelling at me about all the stops he’d had to make that morning and how he’d stopped to get coffee. WHOA NELLY. Back up the fucking bus. I told him I would turn around, take him back home and go to Florida by myself. The stress level in the house had taken its toll. Frankly, I was seriously considering not coming back from Florida.
Well, he settled down and apologized, and off we went. We drove the 24 hour trip straight through and got to my daughters house 7:30 the next night. We were unpacking the truck when this guy brought my suitcase into my room.
Whooowee. Handsome, strong broad shoulders and the most welcoming smile I’d seen in a long time. No scowl, no frown lines, this guy looked like he could be a lot of fun. And boy was he. The sex was hot and frequent. Quiet walks on the beach. Fun moments at the water park. Damn I like this guy.
Vacation ended. We had gone to Florida to pick up my 4 year old grandson because my daughter is deploying to Afghanistan for 8 months. The drive home was no big deal. We did stop overnight this time because we had Jadin with us, but the kid travels like a seasoned traveler. He’s very used to it; he’s been doing it since he was 9 months old.
Well it appears I brought that strange man home with me. He walks through the door at night with a smile on his face and appears to have left all the stressors of working with family behind at the shop.
Now I think this has a lot to do with Jadin being here. The boy brightens everybody’s day just by smiling. Could be all the flirting and other fun stuff we did on vacation. But whatever the reason, I’m so very glad that the man I met on vacation didn’t disappear when we got back home. Here’s hoping it’ll last.

Or Dating in the New Millenium

Yep-I’m back to my irreverent self it seems. The pity party got old, the tsk tsk from former friends got irritating and the heavy handed ex got….well…too heavy handed so I bailed. Yep. Jumped ship and did not leave a forwarding address-literally. I’m snug as a horny bug in my little one room apartment with my new queen size bed that has been thoroughly broken in…ahem….. I’ve dipped my toe into the dating pool on the internet and what a difference 20 years makes. I shouldn’t be surprised I suppose. Ipod is on it’s what… seventh generation in ten years of existence so why wouldn’t the dating game have gone thru a few changes as well. And my goodness what wonderful changes. Not only do the posters offer to show you what they have but how they intend to use it-no worries about false advertising. They also have little boxes that you check off in their profile that asks what you are looking for in another person. To my surprise and JOY the one site has a box that says “Fuck Buddy only- no emotional attachment wanted at this time”. My eyes misted over, the clouds parted, the angels sang. I plopped my fat ass down and filled in that profile-heaven was only a few keystrokes away. Accidentally gave myself five inches and aged myself 6 months in my haste to get my profile on line, but what the heck. What’s a few extra inches between two consenting adults.

And, as I was waiting for everything to be approved to be put up on the bulletin board as one of the new fish I had a few random thoughts float thru my lust filled brain. Should I go buy a pair of those false advertising 501 button fly jeans? A little window dressing couldn’t hurt. And maybe I should go get one of those waxes Blake told me about at the convention. Nothing turns a top on more than a smooth bottomed bottom…..uhm….not too sure about that one…might have to revisit it later. We do happen to have an A&F so maybe if I just ran down and took a few notes on what the brainless hotties behind the counter were wearing I might at least look the part of a lonely hottie in need of a pair of strong arms and broad shoulders. Stop shaking your head….I can pout with the best of ‘em! I can look hopelessly lost amongst all the brightly colored boxers. I can shake my head and sigh morosely when confronted with one of those new fangled hangers that won’t hold onto the pants. I can drop something forty times in fifteen minutes so I have to bend over so everyone can get a good look at my ass…..Then again they might mistake me for an A&F sales boy.

Stay tuned for Part Two of Dating in the New Millenium where I’ll go into detail about my first nooner experience.

TTFN

Aeryn

A coworker was teasing me earlier this evening about this being my default answer to anything lately.  This being notable because I, while not being a technical member of management due to my university-dictated availability, am treated as management by the other managers.  So for me to be answering every query with a shrug and an “I don’t know” is highly unusual.  In this case, it’s not because I don’t care – it’s just, my brain is dead.  I genuinely don’t know the answer to a lot of this stuff! 

Why is my brain dead, you may ask? Well, I did just reach the end of a semester, during which time I juggled four writing-intensive courses, two full-fledged research projects for psychology, and a part time job, plus over 82,500 words of fiction.  (Two short stories, half a novella, and a novel.)  And people wonder why I don’t have time to have a girlfriend.

The semester just ended – in fact, Monday was my last exam, plus the due date on the 16+ page APA-style paper for one of the research projects – and I just wrapped up and submitted the novel today.  The others were already bought and will be out in June.

So yeah, my brain is total mush and dribbling out my ears lately.  This, however, does not stop me from attempting to bring you the dirty dregs of my mind that are still hanging around inside the abandoned cavity in my cranium.

So that novel I just finished… I’ll be sure to chat about it more when I have a release date, etc., but the point is, there’s this contrast.  There are two couples in the book–one in 1957, the other in 2007; two stories for the price of one!–and they both gave me fits.  My 1957 couple couldn’t stay out of bed.  The only way I got through one of their chapters without them ending up taking a tumble together was to separate them for the entire chapter.  If they were in arm’s reach, they were going to find a way to have sex.  My other couple?  I couldn’t pay them to have sex until the last couple of chapters.  *facepalms*

And okay, I just spent the last forty minutes getting distracted while trying to find the picture of the model-slash-artist who was the physical inspiration for one half of the modern-day couple in that novel… So for those of you who get around to reading it ever, this particular shot of Jordan Carlyle was the direct basis for my sweet, oblivious little RN, Liam Brooks.

I wonder if I should actually be giving away secrets like that… haha.  Anyway, yes.  He of the pretty brown eyes and sensitive mouth.

Oh, speaking of pretty!  Funny story from work tonight.  (In case you ever wanted to know, yes, all Starbucks baristas are incurable perverts.  At least those of us who work at my store.)  One of my coworkers – and very good friends – is dating a girl who is, let’s say, significantly on the younger side.  She’s legal.  Barely.  So she has a lot of high school friends.  Now, mind, my running joke is that I didn’t figure out I was gay until I was in college because I can’t stand high school girls.

So the gf’s friends were in the store, and one of them walked right up to my friend and said, “Hey, pretty boy.”

I may have snorted my coffee.  My other friend, an extremely handsome young man with the sort of musculature that makes me want to strip him down and take pictures — I’m lesbian, not blind — starting giggling.  And spent the rest of the evening tacking on “pretty boy” to every sentence just for the fact that it made our friend sort of violent.  The part where I couldn’t stop giggling was when there were dishes being brought back to the sink to be washed…

“Looking for some place to put that? Give it to me, pretty bo…”

And they both went sort of pale, looked at each other, and started making noises of protest while I did my damnedest to catch my breath from laughing so hard.

Ah, boys.  Endless sources of amusement.

In honor of, have a poem I wrote long time ago.  I may not want boysex for myself most of the time, but it doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy reading or writing it.

Read the rest of this entry »

Yes, I’ve effed up the calendar. Where the fuck does the damned time go anyway? It keeps getting away from me like a greased pig at the county fair. Not a pretty visual is it? I’ll work on the calendar tonight for all you FAB authors and readers.

Now, since I effed up and should have posted yesterday, I will give you a taste of something I posted at Z.A. Maxfield’s group this week. Also, just for being good flirty bitches, since it’s a Humpday, I’ll give you Hotties at the end of this post. Never let it be said that I can’t apologize properly with half naked hunks.

Over at ZAM’s, Jules told us about flirting with a co-worker that she wasn’t interested in sexually. The way she described him, I think most of the group was interested in him sexually though. HEH. I know he at least fired up my imagination. He did something flirty to her one day and she told us about it. We all thought it was really hot… and flirty. I said I should use it in a book. Someone (prolly Maurya) said they wanted to see that! So I showed em.

What I did was create a scene with the three main characters from a book that is only plotted and has no title. In fact, this is the first scene I’ve written for it. The book is one of the Twisted Tales and it’s a twist on Rapunzel starring a twisted version of my friend Becky from Midnight Cliff. If you don’t know Becky you should visit her blog because you are in for a treat. She goes by hellohahanarf across the blogosphere and she’s very flirty and fun. She does Half-Naked Thursday and shows off her boobs including nipples. She has great boobs too.

Anyway, here’s the flirty scene I wrote:

Well, shoot! It’s my blog time? What the heck should I write about? Everyone here has such great posts and then I come along-LOL! So, I’ve been thinking on it. Should I bitch??? Should I be flirty??? Should I simply shut up now??? No? What the hell is wrong with you people? You actually want to hear what I have to say!?! *mutters in disbelief*

Okay, okay…I guess I will come up with something. Well, I could bitch. I’ve been doing that online a lot lately. The whole Amazon ‘glitch’ thing and of course, my RA problem. For those who don’t know (and I can’t imagine who you would be since I spent quite a bit of time on groups bitching about this) I saw my doctor on Friday. I’ve been in nearly constant pain for the last 8 months. I suspected it was arthritis and had that confirmed. My doctor is 99% sure I have Rheumatoid Arthritis. I have to wait for the blood test to come back to confirm this. No cure and treatments are not fun. It was hard news for me even though I had suspected it. So I went on line and whined about it. But hey…who wants to listen to more whining! Not me!!!

So then what…flirting? Actually, yes. I’ve been down in the dumps after finding this out. My family understands but not really. I have been somewhat depressed. Sunday, after church, the kids and I stopped and got donuts. Then we headed over to my favorite place in the world…Starbucks! Where else can I get that heavenly chocolate/coffee combination? (No…not there…or there!) So I go in. It’s Easter and I’m tired and hurting and basically feeling sorry for myself. *I promise…this isn’t about griping*

Inside, three of my favorite guys are working. Now it’s not that I dislike the ladies who work there, not at all. But when these guys are working together, they are so much fun. The manager, Garrett, and baristas, Scott and Jeremy. Let me tell you a little bit about them.

Garrett is married to a middle school special ed teacher. They are buying their first house. Garrett starts right in when he sees me. Teasing me about them being out of coffee. Like I’m going to believe that! He keeps it up even as he is fixing about 8 drinks for a group of people before me. I’m teasing him back about his lack of lying skills.

Scott is in college and has these really cool ear gauges. He’s working the drive thru but grins at me and does this eyebrow thing that always make me laugh. As soon as he can he comes over and jokes around with both Garrett and me. His facial expressions are making me laugh.

Jeremy comes out of the back and sees me. Immediately he rolls his eyes at me. He and I are always teasing each other… I blame him for the store being out of coffee. He claims to have drank it all to wake himself up that morning.
I notice that he hasn’t shaved his head and comment on it. Then I notice that all three haven’t shaved their beards so I start teasing them about a new Starbuck’s policy of beards. They tease back and by the time I leave there I’m smiling and in a great mood. Was I flirting? Oh yeah! Were they flirting? Yep! It made me feel so much better. Instead of feeling sorry for myself, I’m laughing and smiling. Did my pain stop…no. But instead of focusing on it I was focused on flirting with those guys. I walked out of there feeling great!

So my moral here? Flirt more rather than bitch more. You’ll feel better!