Zane's Blog

Upcoming Zane Events and Zane's Sister's Literary Debut

2011-06-29T14:52:00.000-04:00

Greetings All! If no one has told you that you are loved and appreciated today, I love and appreciate you.

In case you haven't heard, I am celebrating both my birthday (it is a milestone but I am not saying which one-LOL) and New Year's in a big way.

My Birthday Bash Weekend is August 26th-28th in the DMV and all the information can be found at: www.eroticanoir.com/zaneparty.html

For New Year's, I am finally going to live out my lifelong fantasy and host Zane's 48-Hour New Year's Bash. Yes, we are going to party for two days straight and takeover an entire hotel in Northern Virginia. I hope that you will come and party like is it 1999 all over again with us. All the information for the New Year's Weekend, December 30, 2011-January 1, 2011 can be found at www.eroticanoir.com/znye.html

Even if you can't make it, I would appreciate it if you could spread the word for a sister. The more the merrier and yet, at the same time, space is limited for both events. So if you plan to attend, please book your rooms and let my assistant know by sending an email to ZanesRightHandChick@gmail.com to receive the official registration forms.

Lastly, I wanted to mention that the trade paperback of The Hot Box comes out on August 16th for those of you who didn't purchase the hardcover version yet. All the reviews have been great and, as always, I loved writing it.

My sister's first novel, The Next Phase of Life, comes out on July 27th, and I hope that ALL of you will support it. You can preorder it on Amazon.com at http://www.amazon.com/Next-Phase-Life-Novel/dp/1593093721/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1309373341&sr=1-1

You can get it for less than ten dollars. Now I know all of you have an extra ten bucks to spare for a great read by my older sister. PLEASE, PLEASE, if you have ever cared about me, purchase my sister's book and help to spread the word. As the Publishing Director of Strebor Books, she has facilitated the publication of hundreds of books by others. Now she deserves her moment to shine. Thanks in advance for your support.

Blessings,
Zane

Pot Luck Book Giveaway #2

2011-06-27T14:42:00.001-04:00

Since many of our galleys no longer have 10 copies to giveaway, this is a POT LUCK giveaway. Each winner will receive Two free books. If you are one of the first ten people to respond to my blog, please send an email to ZanesRightHandChick@gmail.com with your name on here and your real name and address.

Thanks,
Zane

Pot Luck Book Giveaway

2011-06-16T12:18:00.002-04:00

Zane's Birthday Weekend in the DMV

2011-05-06T16:05:00.001-04:00

Zane's Birthday Weekend--August 26th-August 28th, 2011

I just left the Metro Points hotel. I went over there to make sure that everything was to my standards, to look at the guest rooms once again and the ballroom. It's hot! There is a Starbucks across the street and an IHOP connected to the hotel itself. Room rates for August 26th-August 29th are $89 per night per room, which includes a buffet breakfast for everyone. You have to call the hotel directly at 301-459-6700. The code for the group rate is obvious: PLANET ZANE

www.metropointshotel.com

The cost for the weekend activities will be $200 if paid by check or money order and $212 if paid by PayPal to cover our fees through them. Go ahead and book the room if you are coming. If you are in a party that wishes to have connecting rooms, I will also get that information later. We are going to block out floors in groups of 25 rooms per floor.

If you plan to come to the event and want registration and payment instructions, please send an email to: ZanesRightHandChick@gmail.com. Include your name, city, phone number, and best email and the number of people you wish to register. If I only know you via Facebook, please also include your screenname and the screennames of those attending with you. Registration money will be due no later than July 10, 2011.

The weekend events will be:

Friday, August 26th 7:00 PM-2:00 AM Dinner Buffet/Dance, Metro Points Hotel by Sheraton, New Carrollton, MD

Saturday, August 27th 10:00 AM-5:00 PM Six Flags America, Bowie, MD (People can go as they like. Tickets will be handed out on Friday in your registration packet.)

Saturday, August 27th Time TBD Private Party at Night Club

Sunday, August 28th 1:00 PM-9:00 PM Zane's Birthday Party Cookout, Mayo Beach, Annapolis, MD

Thanks,

Zane

Moving without a Ring.

2010-12-27T23:56:00.000-05:00

Dear Zane,

First and foremost, allow me to say thank you for novels that are intensifying to the mind, body and soul! My boyfriend and I have been together for six years, on and off. We both decided to give up the lives we once led to share one together. He is twenty-seven with one child and I am twenty-six with no offspring…at the moment! This is the first consistent year that we have been together. We now live together. However, he is beginning his law career in another state next year and asked me to come with him. I happily agreed. Because of our past, I wanted to take precautions. Would it be absurd for me to insist that we become engaged before we continue our journey together?

Signed,
Needed Advice

Dear Needed Advice,

What would be absurd is for you not to insist on being engaged—or better yet married—before you move with him to another state. While you are both still relatively young (under 30), six years is long enough for anyone to test drive a vehicle for any journey, like the one you have agreed to take together. You already live together, you have accepted his child, but now you are planning to make a huge sacrifice by following the man across state lines. I commend you for wanting to make sure that you will not find yourself in a crazy predicament after giving up so much to be with him. If he is not ready to get married, or at least ready to start making preparations to get married, you should reconsider the move. That does not mean that the relationship has to end but you certainly have to protect your best interest.

Blessings,
Zane

Sexing the Wrong Man

2010-12-12T21:36:00.000-05:00

Dear Zane,

I have been sexing my godmother’s best friend that she’s in love with. She has no clue. The sex is great and he brings out all of the freak in me. He’s the best man that I’ve ever fucked…period. His head game is also the best. We were giving each other head before we fucked. He makes me feel so comfortable with myself. We can text and talk for hours. He has had sex with her a number of times but lately, he says he’s only been fucking me. I want him all to myself but I know that’s not possible. Should I leave him alone totally or continue as we are?

Signed,
Sexing the Wrong Man

Dear Sexing the Wrong Man,

You are definitely not going to like my response. Hell yes, you should leave his nasty ass alone. What would make you want to suck on or spread your legs for a man who is doing the same thing to your godmother? You should find the mere thought of that repulsive but it is obvious that he has penis-whipped you into a mental lapse.

Your godmother is much more important in your life than this man who has no self-respect and, thus, certainly has no respect for you, or her. There are wayyyyyyyyyyyyy too many men in this world for you to share one PERIOD, rather less with someone who regards you highly enough to agree to be your godmother.

Ironically, you mention not a single word of having any feelings for him. Only that he has a serious head game and brings out the freak in you. This “sexing” might last for a hot minute, he might teach you a few tricks, but in the end, you will be left feeling like a trick. Regardless of what he says to you, you are nothing but a piece of meat to him. How could you be anything more?

You need to stop talking this fool’s calls, text messages, emails, or any other form of communication. Times are hard but they are not that damn hard. You need to leave him alone and you also need to work on self-love because it is ridiculous for you to even entertain sleeping with him, rather less actually doing it. As to whether or not you should tell your godmother, that it tricky. If you tell her, she will definitely be hurt because she has trusted both of you. If you don’t tell her, you are leaving her in the arms of a predator and she will ultimately be hurt anyway. I guarantee you that he is bullshitting you about not sleeping with her anymore. He is still sleeping with her and probably a few other chicks that you don’t know about. You can do better. Great sex is cool but not at such a high expense.

Blessings,
Zane

Here is your chance to be in a Zane book!

2010-11-07T23:06:00.001-05:00

CHOCOLATE FLAVA 3: The Eroticanoir.com Anthology Edited by Zane

Zane is seeking submissions for Chocolate Flava 3: The Eroticanoir.com Anthology to be published by ATRIA/Simon and Schuster. Stories must prominently feature African-Americans in one or more of the key roles. Stories should be between 2,500-3,500 in length (no longer). Stories must not just be strictly sex-filled but must actually have a storyline and character development. The deadline for submissions is March 1, 2011. Please allow 4-5 months for a response to your submissions as the submissions process will be very competitive.

Contributors will be paid a one-time fee of $300 and receive 5 complimentary copies of the finished book. Emailed submissions will not be accepted. All submissions must be double-spaced with 1" margins and in 12-pt. Times New Roman font or will not be considered. Poorly edited submissions will automatically be rejected. This is a great opportunity for those seeking exposure for their writing. Succulent: Chocolate Flava 2 spent six weeks on the New York Times Bestseller List; something unheard of for an anthology in any genre.

Please send your submissions to: Strebor Books/Simon and Schuster, ATTN: Chocolate Flava 2, PO Box 6505, Largo, MD 20792.

Excerpt from The Hot Box by Zane

2010-06-07T10:51:00.000-04:00

The Hot Box by Zane

Two women plus four men equals nothing but drama. “Hotbox” is a baseball drill that can be played with three or more players and two to four bases. The players take turns between being fielders and runners, ultimately trying to tag the rest of the players out. In “The Hot Box” by Zane, best friends Milena and Lydia are playing the game along with Jacour, Yosef, Glenn, and Phil. The only problem: the men do not realize that they are playing.

Milena is a veterinarian who has lived a sheltered and dismal existence ever since leaving Jacour Bryant at the altar. Jacour had recently signed an eighty-five million dollar contract with the New York Yankees but Milena could not have cared less once she discovered his doggish ways. Jump ahead eight years and Jacour has returned to rural North Carolina to win Milena’s heart back… but there’s a serious problem. Milena has a new man; one that no one ever knew existed who has seemingly appeared out of nowhere. What ensues is a competition between Jacour and the mysterious and handsome stranger, Yosef, to win Milena’s heart, soul, and body that hasn’t been touched by a man in nearly a decade.

Lydia is the complete opposite of Milena; she does not believe in recycling her virginity. In fact, she utilizes her sex daily to get what she wants. Working part-time as a grocery cashier is simply not the life that she desires. Residing with Glenn, her lover of three years, she is also sexually active with his best friend, Phil. Glenn is her Mr. Right but Phil is her Mr. Good Sex. Lydia dreams of getting away from small town America but, until she can make that happen, she is prepared to do whatever it takes to continue to have her bills paid… on time. Everything is all-good until Phil decides that he wants to change the parameters of their relationship, forcing Lydia to make a choice that she is clearly not prepared to make.

Two women. Four men. Two love triangles. Three sections: Curveballs, Bases Loaded, and The Sweet Spot. Reading has never been this hot because once again, Zane is taking you outside of the box.

EXCERPT-PAGE 115 of The Hot Box by Zane

Lydia

I seriously had a problem. Sunday morning, the day after Jacour’s party, I got up at seven and told Glenn that I was going to the eight o’clock church service. In all actuality, I was mad as hell that Glenn hadn’t come home until after three. The dance had ended at midnight and he’d claimed that he was going to help console Jacour’s devastated heart after Milena showed up with Randolph. While I was extremely confident that Glenn was wrapped around my pinkie finger, I didn’t want him staying out that late. Now that Jacour was back, unless Milena got back with him, Glenn would be gone all the time and I wasn’t having it. Worse yet, Phil would likely be right along with them. Not only would my man be missing in action, but my dick action, too? No fucking way!
I couldn’t wait to get the rest of the dirt from Milena about this Yosef dude, but first, I had something else to attend to. While I was sitting on the toilet taking my morning dump, I sent Phil a text message. Yes, women take morning dumps, too. Any woman who denies it will also claim her shit doesn’t stink. Memo: there is no such thing as sweet‐smelling shit; real talk.

me: meet me at baker’s creek.
phil: right now?
me: yes, right now.
phil: why? what’s up?
me: you know why.
phil: no, tell me.
me: get your ass over there. 30 minutes.
phil: i’m still sleep.
me: 30 minutes. don’t be late.
phil: i’m going back to sleep. holla later.

As much shit as Phil talked, he would show up. He wasn’t going to turn down pussy; not my pussy. I started to put something raunchy in the text message but wasn’t about to be a fool. Text messages had gotten more people busted than used condoms in the wastebasket. Former Detroit mayor Kwame Kilpatrick had more than 14,000 of those bad boys leaked all over the internet after the powers that be decided to do his ass in. I wasn’t a politician, but I still had shit to worry about. Glenn was covering the bills that I couldn’t afford from my part‐time job at Food Lion and I needed him to keep paying them. One day, I was going to get the hell out of that dismal town, but until then, I needed him to stay put. If he found out that I was fucking Phil, and had been fucking Phil even before I started fucking him, my life as I knew it would be history.
Now you would think that the possibility of not being able to pay bills would’ve been sufficient enough to encourage me to stop fucking Phil. But, like I said, I seriously had a problem, and it was entirely related to the need for dick.

•••
Less than twenty‐five minutes later, I was sitting in the parking lot at Baker’s Creek Park. That’s the beauty of small‐town life. You could shower, get dressed—oh yeah, take a morning shit—and still be anyplace in town within a half hour.
There wasn’t a soul out there that time of morning. It wasn’t like Central Park or South Beach or the Santa Monica Pier or the other places they showed in movies. People weren’t riding bikes, jogging in expensive spandex, or rollerblading at Baker’s Creek. The only things getting exercise around there were the squirrels, possums, and raccoons. And shortly, my pussy was going to get a workout.
My clit started throbbing at the thought of it. I tried to decide what I was going to demand that Phil do to me first: suckle on my tits, eat my pussy, or lick my ass. Yes, my ass. I showered after my morning shit. Did you?
That was one thing I never played with; proper hygiene. I remember when Donita was dating Timmy, her now husband. Milena had forced me to have dinner with the chicken at the Golden Corral. You know it’s a small town when the hottest meal ticket is the Golden Fucking Corral. Anyway, we were chowing down on the selections when Donita said something that almost made me barf up my salisbury steak and gravy.
“Timmy keeps leaving beads on my sheets,” Donita said.
“Beads! What kind of beads?” Milena asked.
“Poop beads.” Donita looked terribly uncomfortable as the words left her lips. “Should I say something?”
I placed my fork down on my plate, suddenly losing my appetite. “Please tell me that you’re not talking about what I think you’re talking about. Not while I’m trying to eat.”
Milena giggled. “It’s okay, Lydia. At least she’s not getting graphic.”
That’s when Donita went and did it. She got graphic. “Every time we get finished fucking, there are these little pieces of shit all over my sheets. As soon as he leaves, I have to strip the bed and throw everything in the washer.”
“Not graphic, huh?” I glared at Milena. “Little pieces of shit all over her sheets?” I turned my attention to Donita. “Donita, let me help you out here. Yes, the hell you need to tell that Negro to stop shitting in your bed.”
“I don’t think he’s actually shitting in the bed. I’m saying, the beads are already there from when he did take a shit, and they end up on my sheets.”
“In other words, Timmy’s not wiping his ass when he takes a dump,” Milena added. “A lot of men don’t wipe properly.”
“And how would you know that, Miss Never Fucked Another Man In My Life Besides Jacour? Did Jacour wipe his ass?”
“Of course he did,” Milena replied.
“And all of my men have always wiped their asses,” I said. “Furthermore, no funk occupies my space. I take a shower before I go to bed, and I’ll be damned if any man that I’m fucking around with is lying with me with a musty dick.”
There was an older couple sitting in the booth behind us. The man cleared his throat. I tried to see if I recognized them, but I didn’t. While the blacks and whites in Kannapolis dealt with each other in some respects, the area was still very segregated as far as living space and communicating with one another. There was a ton of jungle fever going on though. My mother used to always say that future generations of black boys were going to be lost between the thighs of white women. I believed in to each his or her own, and I wasn’t down with the swirl.
I didn’t know the couple, but they needed to mind their business. If they didn’t want to hear real talk, stay the fuck out of the real world.
I cleared my throat back, loudly, and then stared at Donita. “You nasty, Donita. Real, real nasty. The first time that man left a single bead in my bed, not that I ever would’ve allowed it, his ass would’ve been told. For you to even have to ask us if you should say something proves that you’re hard the fuck up.”
“Ease up, Lydia,” Milena said, taking a sip of her lemonade. I couldn’t see how she could still drink, much less eat, after Donita’s “shit talk.” “You shouldn’t make fun of her. Obviously, this is really bothering her or she wouldn’t have mentioned it.”
“Well, she shouldn’t have mentioned it when we weren’t eating.”
Donita seemed like she was on the brink of tears. “I’m sorry. You’re right, Lydia. This was the wrong time to bring it up. It’s just that I care about Timmy, a lot, and I don’t want to say anything that might upset him or make him stop dating me.”
Milena was about to say something, but I held my index finger up to hush her.
“Let me get this one,” I said. Milena gave me a warning look. “Don’t worry. I’m going to be nice about it.” I looked at Donita, who was wiping her eyes with a napkin. “I can tell this is a serious matter.”
I sat up straighter in the booth and noticed the man in the next one cropping his neck to try to listen. Now the old dirty bastard was all into it. He’d probably left his share of shit beads in the bed over the years his damn self.
“Donita, if you can’t talk to Timmy without feeling like you have to walk on eggshells, then it’s not a true relationship. When you’re with someone intimately, you should be able to talk to them about anything. Ask the man—no, tell him—that he needs to bathe before you have sex. In fact, make it a sensual time. Suggest that you bathe together before you get it in. That way you can make sure that he’s nice and clean all over: his ass, his dick, his balls. He’d probably get a kick out of being able to lather up your pussy and dig out the coochie with a washcloth. Hell, it might even lead to some freaky shit in the shower.”
“Freaky shit like what?” Milena asked.
“One time,” I whispered, sick of the man in the next booth being nosy, “I sucked Ph . . . a dude’s dick in the shower with a bar of soap in my mouth.”
Damn, I had almost fucked up and mentioned Phil. Even though Glenn and I were not together way back then when Donita was dating Timmy, I still didn’t want anyone to know that I was fucking Phil.
“Damn, you do things like that?” Milena asked.
“That’s hot!” Donita seemed excited and perked up. “I need to try that. Thanks, Lydia.”
I glanced at Milena. “Yes, I do things like that. I never play when it comes to sex. If I’m going to fuck a man, I’m going to give him the fuck of his life. If I can’t win a game, I don’t want to play; real talk.”
“You and all of your real talk is going to make you write a check one day that your ass can’t cash,” Milena said.
Sitting there at Baker’s Creek, waiting for Phil to show up with his dick in tow, made me recall those words. I had certainly written the check. Hopefully, I’d never have to cash the damn thing.
Phil came speeding into the parking lot in his pimped‐out metallic blue Ford Fusion with the vanity plate that read URideMe. Nasty ass!
He pulled up beside my white Honda Civic and rolled his window down. I did the same.
“You’re late,” I told him.
“No, I’m not. You said thirty minutes.”
I glanced at the time on my dash. “And it’s been thirty‐two minutes.”
“Whatever, Lydia. I couldn’t be considered late anyway since I told you that I wasn’t coming in the first place.”
“Well, then, why are you here?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
“Shit, I’m not turning down your pussy.”
I blushed as he rolled up his window, cut his engine, and got out. He climbed into my car.
“You want this dick in here or you want to fuck out in the woods with the animals?”
“Ooh, that’s what I like about you.”
He reached between my legs. I was dressed for church, where I would eventually end up late for the service, in order to cover my ass, but I hadn’t bothered to put on panties. Phil started fingering my wet pussy and I laid my head back and closed my eyes.
“You’ve got that premium shit, Lydia. Men would go to war over this pussy. You know that?” He kept fingering me, setting my pussy on fire. “Sometimes, while I’m at work in that factory, all I can think about is your pussy. How lovely it smells. How wet and creamy it is. How good it tastes. How it drives me crazy when I’m deep inside of you.”
“Damn, Phil, I love it when you do that sexy talk.” I squirmed in the seat, gyrating my pussy on his fingers and holding onto his wrist, guiding the motion. “You’re going to make me come already.”
“No . . .” He tried to pull his fingers out but I continued to grasp his wrist and locked my thighs around his hand. “I don’t want you to come all over that beautiful dress or your car seat. Neither one of them will appreciate your juices as much as me. Let me lick that cat real good for you.”
“I don’t want to do it in the car.” I changed course and pulled Phil’s fingers out of me. “Let’s go out in the woods like you said. I feel like doing something really freaky this morning.”
“You’ve always been my little freak.” Phil smiled as I sucked my own juice off of his fingers. “That shit with Glenn makes no damn sense. He’ll never fuck you like me; that’s why you won’t stop.”
“You won’t stop either,” I reminded him. “I’ve never forced myself on you.”
“And as long as there is a breath in my body, you won’t have to.” Phil licked his fingers one by one to see if I’d left any juice for him. “No one turns me on more than you do, Lydia. We need to come out with it and tell Glenn the truth.”
I slapped Phil across his face, damn near drawing blood. “Don’t ever make that suggestion again, Phil. It’s not going down like that.”
Now the typical man would’ve either slapped my ass back, followed by a serious beatdown, or gotten out of my car and rolled out. Phil sat there, staring at me intently for a moment.
“I’m sorry that I hit you,” I said. “I’m really hormonal right now; that’s not an excuse though. But you know how I get when my period’s about to start.”
“Yeah, it is about that time. Couple more days or so.”
See, that’s the type of shit that Glenn should’ve been on top of, being that we lived together. Phil was more up on my bleeding calendar than my own man. Then again, he’d been digging my back out much longer.
“I bet you are horny, huh? You women start acting all crazy and shit when your Aunt Flo is headed to town.”
“Yeah, we do.” I grabbed Phil’s chin, slipped my thick tongue into his mouth, and bit his bottom lip gently. “But you don’t need to busy yourself worrying about any other woman. I take good care of you, don’t I?”
“Sure you do.” Phil sighed. “But sometimes I wish things were different. What are we really doing here . . . with each other? We fuck damn near every day. I’ve been seeing you longer than Glenn. Yet you want to keep it a secret . . . like you’re ashamed of me or something.”
“It’s not like that, and you know it.” It was exactly like that but I had to lie. “You’ve got a roommate. What do you expect from me? For me to move up in your crib with you and Briscoe? Don’t forget that Glenn has brought me over there before. Briscoe can’t even spell housekeeping, much less do any.”
Phil looked extremely upset. I had to do something quick or he might’ve withheld the dick.
I started rubbing him through his jeans. He was already so hard, he could’ve split bricks. “Come on, Phil. Let’s not start tripping. It’s Sunday morning . . .” I looked around the park. “We’re out here all alone. Last night, you looked so damn good at the party. All I could think about was sucking on your big dick.”
That perked his ass up. “Really?”
“Ooh, yeah.” I unzipped his pants and pulled his dick out. “Look at that. It’s a thing of beauty. I was so horny for you last night that I went in the bathroom and played in my pussy until I came.”
“Word?”
“Word.” I ran the tip of my thumb back and forth across the head of his dick. “I was yearning for you, baby. I imagined your fingers all over my body, caressing my tits, my ass. I wanted you to split my pussy wide open with this piece of wood right here.”
I was lying my ass off. There was no way that I would’ve masturbated at the Elks lodge, especially not in that same stall that Ms. Bart was pissing and shitting in half the night.
“You still want to go out in the woods?” Phil asked, grinning.
“Uh‐huh, I want you to fuck me rough . . . hard . . . punish me with your dick.”
“I’m going to fuck you so hard, you won’t even be able to walk straight.”
I giggled. “Now that’s what I’m talking about.” I reached down on the side of my seat and popped the trunk. “I’ve got a blanket in the trunk. Go get it so we can get it in.”
Phil chuckled and got out of the car. I cut the engine and was about to get out when my phone rang. It was Glenn. I sent him a text message, letting him know that church had started and I would be home right after. Glenn never went to church, unless it was for a funeral or a wedding, so there was no chance of him showing up and seeing that I wasn’t there. However, it was a small town, and I was running the chance that he might bring it up to someone in casual conversation. People in Kannapolis took great joy in busting someone’s bubble. I couldn’t blame them. Boredom could make people do all kinds of trifling shit, like what I was about to do with Phil.

All I can say is there was much to be said for fucking out in the bush. It had its pros and cons, but the idea of doing it someplace different did it for me. I could’ve done without the insects, both those on the ground and the ones flying by. I definitely could’ve done without the animals rustling through the woods and making it seem like a scene out of Friday the 13th when Jason would sneak up on a naked couple so busy getting their groove on that they didn’t notice him about to whack one of their heads off. But what I did like was the breeze teasing my nipples and the hardness of the ground underneath the blanket as Phil plummeted his dick in and out of my pussy. There had been a terrible storm the night before and the ground was still fairly damp, another reason why the park was so deserted.
When we first got out there, I told him to put the blanket down. I lowered to my knees and gave him a serious dick‐sucking. TOOT MOTHERFUCKING TOOT! I had him screaming out like a maniac by the time he came all down in my throat.
“Take your dress off,” Phil said, dropping to the ground in front of me and groping at my clothes. “I want to see every inch of you.”
As soon as it was visible, he grabbed my left tit and started milking it for dear life. “Umm, that’s it. I love breastfeeding you, baby.”
“I want you so bad, Lydia.”
I slipped the rest of my dress off but kept my heels on. “Then take me. Take me right here like a beast. Show me what a powerful fuck feels like. Drill a hole in my snatch.”
I turned around and got down on all fours.
“Oh, you want it from the back, huh?” Phil asked.
“Damn straight. Take all this pussy.”
Phil grabbed onto the sides of my ass and crouched down with his thighs on both sides of me, his knees still elevated and brushing against my sides. Then he laid it on me. I felt the tip of his dick enter me, and within seconds, he was all the way in. He fucked me with reckless abandon. That shit was off the chain and lasted for a good twenty minutes.
I came all over his dick and collapsed to the ground.
“You need to be careful what you ask for.” Phil panted and tried to catch his breath. He lay beside me on the blanket. “I don’t play when it comes to working pussy over.”
“You don’t have to tell me.” I turned over onto my back and then threw my leg over his and started playing with the small hairs on his chest. I kissed the underside of his armpit gently, then laid my head on him. “You’re the truth; real talk.”
Phil was quiet for a moment, and I sensed something was wrong.
I looked up into his eyes. “What’s wrong with you?”
“I was wondering, if I’m the truth, why are we out here fucking in the woods instead of setting up house together?”
I rolled my eyes to the sky. “Didn’t we have this conversation back in the car?”
“No, not really. You spoke and I listened.” He pushed me off of him and sat up on his elbows. “Now you’re going to listen to me.”
“Phil, can’t you tell when you’re beating a dead horse? I’m not going to change my mind. You and I function well . . . as fuck buddies. A relationship? That would never work.”
“You don’t know that. How can you even make an assumption like that? We’ve never tried to do the real thing. You were with me first, and instead of trying to make something serious work with me, you went out and made a commitment to my friend. My best fucking friend. Do you have any idea how much that hurts?”
I took a long breath and counted to ten in silence.
“Do you hear me, Lydia? This is really bothering me, and you don’t seem to get it.” I started to get up. Phil pulled me back down. “I’m sick of you running away from me. We’re going to talk about this. You send me a text message early in the morning, expecting me to whip my dick out on demand, like some good little doggie.”
You are a good little doggie!
“You leave Glenn at home, playing him for a fool, and then come out here and fuck me in the woods. This can’t be the kind of life you want to lead. This shit is wrong.”
“If it’s so fucking wrong, then why are you here, Phil? Huh? Why the fuck are you here?”
Phil sighed and threw his hands over his face. “Because I love you, Lydia. A man doesn’t have sex with a woman for over a decade without developing feelings. A few weeks, a few months, we probably don’t give a damn, but this long? It doesn’t go down that way.”
I could’ve tried to reason with Phil about that. I could’ve tried to convince him that what he thought he was feeling was simply embedded in the power of my vajayjay. But I couldn’t; he was in love with me and part of me had always realized that. It felt good to have him love me. It felt good to always have him near whenever I needed someone to talk to, someone to make me feel wanted . . . and needed.
I decided to put a different spin on it and play on his friendship with Glenn. “Glenn doesn’t deserve this. He’s a good man.”
Phil took his hands off his face and stared at me. “I know that he’s a good man . . . and he’s an even better friend. And no, he doesn’t deserve this, but neither do I.”
“No, you don’t. I dig that. But you’re already hurting. What sense would it make to hurt him also?” I shrugged. “If we officially become a couple, we’d never live that shit down in this town. Everyone in Kannapolis would hate us.”
I thought I had him . . . for a second.
“People cheat in Kannapolis all the time. Hell, having sex is about the only thing to do around here to kill time; either that or getting high or drunk.”
“I could sure use a joint right about now,” I said, mad at myself for not rolling at least one joint before I left the house.
“Who you telling? Me too, and some Jack Daniel’s. You always have that primo shit. I can’t believe you won’t share your hookup with me.”
Now I could get with some weed in the morning to smooth out my thoughts, but the fact that Phil wanted to hit the bottle was a bit much; yet not a surprise. That was typical Phil.
“I don’t tell anybody where I get my weed, Phil. That’s between my supplier and me.”
“What? You his only customer or something? What kind of drug dealer only has one customer?”
“I’m not saying all that,” I replied, thinking that I wasn’t dealing shit, simply growing my own stash. “I’ll ask him if I can bring you around, but I’m not giving you his number, or taking you past his crib without permission. Dealers don’t be playing that, and he’s a huge, brawny motherfucker with an arsenal sitting close by.”
“Shit, is it safe for you to roll through there?”
“Yes, it’s all copacetic between us. Plus, I’ve become a chat buddy of his chick.”
“That’s cool. That’s cool.”
I was a bit upset that Phil had gone from professing his love for me in one breath to worrying about where I bought my ciggaweed the next. How significant could I really have been?
“I need to get to church,” I said, getting up and starting to get dressed.
“You’re a trip. Fucking me out in the woods and then going to church.”
“Hey, I’m not the only sinner that’ll be packing the pews this morning. Except I’ve never professed to be a saint. There are plenty of sluts up in church every Sunday.”
“You’re not a slut, Lydia. You’re special.” Phil got up and pulled his pants up.
“Yes, I am special. One of these days I’m going to get out of this town. Maybe go to Hollywood and become a movie star.” I twirled in my dress and heels. “You think I’m pretty enough to be a movie star? Or a model?”
“I think you’re pretty enough to be whatever you want to be. Look how wide open you’ve got my nose. I’m not an easy man to catch, but you’ve got me; hook, line, and sinker.”
“Are you seriously telling me that you don’t fuck around with any other women?”
“I have in the past. I won’t lie. But lately, it hasn’t felt right . . . being with someone else. They don’t do anything for me, so there’s no point in bothering with it. If I know I can get a broad, that’s the thrilling part. These women around here are easy. No challenge. No challenge at all.”
Phil started folding up the blanket as I stared at his ass through his jeans.
“Is that what it is with me? Am I a challenge, Phil?”
“That you are.” He must’ve realized what I was thinking. “But that’s not why I want you. I love you; always have.”
“I bet that if I was ever foolish enough to leave Glenn for you, we’d be all lovey dovey for a few months and then you’d leave me for the next piece of ass.”
Phil finished folding up the blanket, lodged it under his right arm, and wrapped his left arm around my waist. He gazed into my eyes. “Never. I would never leave you. In fact, I’m never going to leave you now. I’ll always be with you, for as long as you want to be with me.”
Phil sounded so sincere; it frightened me.
I pulled away from his embrace. “We need to get out of here.” I lifted one of my heels. “Look at all of this mud on my shoes.”
“Yeah, that rain last night was no joke.” I laughed. “That wasn’t rain. That was a kick‐ass storm. For a minute it looked like the lightning was coming in through the front door, doing the electric slide across the carpet, and break-dancing out the back door.”
“Yeah, that storm was deep. Must’ve been because it was so hot yesterday.”
“Well, it was hot out here in these woods today.” I kissed Phil gently on the lips. “Thanks for breakfast.”
“Thanks for letting me dick feed you for breakfast.”
“You’re so nasty . . . but I like it.”
Phil and I walked back toward our cars, hand in hand. It was too late for me to make the eight o’clock church service, even entering late. I decided to take my chances, kill about thirty minutes at the local Target, head on home, and pretend like I’d been there all along. I planned to take a shower, get my Sunday dinner started, and then head over to Milena’s to get the 4‐1‐1 on Yosef.

A Momma's Boy or a Concerned Son and Great Catch?: An Advice Question

2010-06-04T20:57:00.001-04:00

Dear Zane,

I have had problems with women for a long time. I wanted to quit dealing with them altogether and concentrate on work for the rest of my life, but then I found a good woman. The relationship started off nice and slow, but she wanted to speed things up. Everything started to fall apart since she rushed it. I haven’t cheated on her or anything like that.

The thing is that she wants me to spend the night with her, but she waits until the last minute to ask. Memorial Day Weekend was the worst. I was invited to her father’s to meet him for the first time. He was the coolest O.G. that I have ever met and the rest of the family was cool, too. As we left to go home, she said a lot of things since she had consumed three drinks.

I reside with my mother because she is sick. I try to make sure that she is okay and handle some of the bills. My so-called girlfriend called me a “Momma’s Boy” because I wouldn’t spend the night with her. I prefer to plan things ahead of time. We were only supposed to be going to her father’s house to eat and hang out with the family. I am not happy in this relationship. It has gotten so bad that I have completely lost my sex drive. Please help me out with any advice. I am thinking about leaving her and go back to working until I can’t work anymore.

Signed,
Not a Momma’s Boy

Dear Not a Momma’s Boy,

Let me start by saying that even if this current relationship ends, you cannot conclude that burying yourself in work is the only alternative. I understand that you have had a string of bad relationships but you have to keep that door of possibilities open. There is a lovely young lady out there that would accept you as you are and love you. The two of you have to simply have the same priorities in life and she has to be understanding.

It is a wonderful thing that you are so concerned about your mother. Some “selfish” women will see that as a negative but other “smarter” women will realize that if you are capable of sacrificing so much for your mother, that means that you would do the same for your wife. I would not give up on your current relationship so quickly. There was something that drew you to her in the first place; something that made you take a chance. That something is still there. What you have to do is have a serious discussion with her. Let her know that you considered her statements to be disrespectful and that, unless she plans to change her outlook, you no longer will be aroused by her. Either she is willing to change or she is not. If she goes to calling you names again, then she is probably too selfish or immature to appreciate you. Work ethics are a good thing but never get so busy making a living that you forget to make a life.

Blessings,
Zane

The Season Finale of Zane's Sex Chronicles TONIGHT!

2010-05-28T13:43:00.001-04:00

Do not forget to tune into the SEASON FINALE of "ZANE'S SEX CHRONICLES" tonight on CINEMAX at 12:05 AM. We are going out with a bang as the lead-in movie is one of my all-time favorites, TRAINING DAY, with Denzel Washington and Ethan Hawke.

I want to thank everyone for supporting the series over the course of both seasons. If no one has told you that you are loved and appreciated today, I love and appreciate you.

My next book, THE HOT BOX, will be released on August 10th. Please read the synopsis below. You can preorder it on most web sites. Also, so that I can heat up your summer with more than words, I am proud to announce that ZANE'S BOUDOIR, my lingerie company will have a soft launch in July and a hard launch in conjunction with the release of my book. THE HOT BOX COLLECTION is the first line, where I plan to redefine sensuality and style one body at a time. More details to follow.

Also, if you are looking for a hot read for this weekend, you should check out any book by ALLISON HOBBS, the only woman on the planet freakier than me. Please visit www.stealingcandy.net for information about her upcoming title dealing with sex trafficking, something that has become much too prevalent in today's society. We have to protect our youth.

I cannot express how grateful I am for all of your support. If you have not joined Planet Zane, you are missing out. We have such a good time over there. You can find all of the super freaks at www.planetzane.org. Lastly, do not forget that I have a free dating web site, www.blackgentlemen.com, also know as www.singledivas.net. And you can find me on Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/18088876726.

Have a blessed weekend and please let me know your thoughts about the season finale.

Blessings,
Zane

The Hot Box by Zane

Two women plus four men equals nothing but drama. “Hotbox” is a baseball drill that can be played with three or more players and two to four bases. The players take turns between being fielders and runners, ultimately trying to tag the rest of the players out. In “The Hot Box” by Zane, best friends Milena and Lydia are playing the game along with Jacour, Yosef, Glenn, and Phil. The only problem: the men do not realize that they are playing.

Milena is a veterinarian who has lived a sheltered and dismal existence ever since leaving Jacour Bryant at the altar. Jacour had recently signed an eighty-five million dollar contract with the New York Yankees but Milena could not have cared less once she discovered his doggish ways. Jump ahead eight years and Jacour has returned to rural North Carolina to win Milena’s heart back… but there’s a serious problem. Milena has a new man; one that no one ever knew existed who has seemingly appeared out of nowhere. What ensues is a competition between Jacour and the mysterious and handsome stranger, Yosef, to win Milena’s heart, soul, and body that hasn’t been touched by a man in nearly a decade.

Lydia is the complete opposite of Milena; she does not believe in recycling her virginity. In fact, she utilizes her sex daily to get what she wants. Working part-time as a grocery cashier is simply not the life that she desires. Residing with Glenn, her lover of three years, she is also sexually active with his best friend, Phil. Glenn is her Mr. Right but Phil is her Mr. Good Sex. Lydia dreams of getting away from small town America but, until she can make that happen, she is prepared to do whatever it takes to continue to have her bills paid… on time. Everything is all-good until Phil decides that he wants to change the parameters of their relationship, forcing Lydia to make a choice that she is clearly not prepared to make.

Two women. Four men. Two love triangles. Three sections: Curveballs, Bases Loaded, and The Sweet Spot. Reading has never been this hot because once again, Zane is taking you outside of the box.

A Female Condom Hater: An Advice Question

2010-05-27T10:27:00.000-04:00

Dear Zane,

Everyone has a freaky side but society makes it seems like it shouldn’t be that way. Your books make us open up. I have been having sex since the age of fifteen and I am now twenty. I can recall some of the times when the sex was good but my experiences have been more on the negative side. I have had sex raw a couple of times and it feels better than using a condom. The dude that I’m messing with will not have sex without a condom. The last time we had sex, I had to bring some lubricant. I can never stay wet when he has a condom on. Foreplay makes me soaking wet but as soon as he puts the condom on, I dry up quickly. Why is that? Another thing is that he has a big dick and the condom makes sex more difficult. I can’t even fuck him long enough for him to bust a nut in me. I have to give him a blowjob for him to come.

Signed,
A Condom Hater

Dear Condom Hater,

People never cease to amaze me. They insist on using condoms during intercourse but leave them out of the equation during oral sex. Diseases can run rampant more in the mouth than anywhere else. It is admirable that the young man you are dealing with insists on using condoms but he is not truly protecting himself if you are sucking his dick. As for the dryness, I would suggest using various types of condoms until you find the right one that has enough lubricant to do the job. It could be that you are so hell bent on having sex raw that you have a mental block that defiantly ignites as soon as you see a condom whipped out. If this dryness persists, consult your OB/GYN. But the first thing you need to do is discuss his purpose in using condoms. It is only because he does not want to get you pregnant or is it to prevent STDs? Again, if you are humming on the mic, you are not preventing a damn thing.

Blessings,
Zane

Out of Control, Or Not?: An Advice Question

2010-05-27T09:42:00.001-04:00

Dear Zane,

I have been friends with this man for three years; he is blowing my mind both mentally and sexually. For the past couple of months, I find myself dreaming about him all of the time. With the exception of having sex once two years ago, we have remained simply friends. I did not let myself get caught up because he is in the reserves and I can’t see him as much as I want. After we had sex that one time, he was distant and avoided my text messages and phone calls. We eventually started our friendship back up and left sex out of the equation. Whenever he is in town, we hang out. He comes by my place or I drop by his. He never wants to leave and we talks for hours. We sleep on the sofa and he never forces sex. He comforts me whenever I have a problem.

The no-sex, friendship thing has been turning me on. A couple of weeks ago, he came into town and over to my place. When I saw him, I wanted to fuck him so badly, and I did. It was so intense and afterwards I expected him to fall asleep but he didn’t. He asked where did that leave us. He is about to be on active duty full-time and he is not happy about that. I don’t want to stress him out even more but I do crave for a relationship. I thought that I had it all under control but I cannot just be his fuck buddy. He has all of the qualities that I desire in a man. We are both thirty-three. What advice do you have?

Signed,
Out of Control

Dear Out of Control,

I don’t really see a negative in this, with the exception of your insecurities. The man has remained your friend for several years without sexing you on the regular. In my world, that means that his feelings for you are quite sincere and you should appreciate that. People fear the unknown and I think that while the two of you are quite comfortable in your connection, and feelings for each other, you both fear what may or may not happen. The one thing that I do know for sure is that trials and tribulations in life are much easier to bear with someone to walk beside of you and hold your hand. Yes, he is going on active duty and yes, you crave a lot of attention, so while the conditions may not be ideal, that does not negate you being ideal for each other.

What you need to do now is have a deep, heartfelt conversation. He asked you where the recent lovemaking session leaves you. Only you can define your happiness and what you are willing or not willing to sacrifice in order to obtain it. He may not be there for you every day but there are some men who are around 24-7 and yet their women do not feel an ounce of love. Stop doubting him, and yourself, and appreciate and love that man.

Blessings,
Zane

A Horny Lost Teen: An Advice Question

2010-05-24T20:12:00.000-04:00

Dear Zane,

I have two problems. I have a skin disorder called psoriasis on my lower back and my crack. It is not that severe but I usually don’t let men hit it from the back because of it. How can I tell my partners that I’m self-cautious about that? My second problem is that I am five-four and I am a big girl. I weight about 234 pounds and I have stretch marks. I hate to take my shirt off during sex. How can I get over that?

Signed,
Horny Lost Teen

Dear Horny Lost Teen,

Any man who lies down with you has already accepted you as you are. Without some level of attraction, you would not even be in the position to feel uncomfortable. As far as your weight, you can change that by simply realizing that you must burn more calories than you eat. That, coupled with exercise, will work wonders but until then, accept who you are. There is beauty in everyone and for those shallow-minded individuals who do not realize that, that is their issue and not yours.

If you have not been to a dermatologist because of your psoriasis, then you should seek out an opinion. If you are on medication for it, then wait and see what happens. My bigger concern is that you do not feel comfortable with your lovers. That is what making love is all about. Being one with another person, free of worry and judgment. If that is not what you are getting from the experiences, you are lying down with the wrong men.

Blessings,
Zane

A Wife Scorned: An Advice Question

2010-05-24T20:08:00.001-04:00

Dear Zane,

I have been married for four years. Over the course of the past three, he has been flirting with other women on the computer and over the phone. He went out of town earlier this year and since the phone is in my name, I have full access to the call logs. Even though he realizes that, when I checked his photo files, there was a picture of what appeared to be his face buried in this bitch’s pussy. He denied it and went through a crying spell. I tried to confront the girl but she wouldn’t respond. We are still together and I don’t know why. There is some love there but he irks the shit out of me. I don’t even want him to touch me, let alone sex me, but I don’t know if I should try and make it work. Maybe you can give me some advice. Please help.

Signed,
Wife Scorned

Dear Wife Scorned,

Even though your husband’s behavior is sad, what is truly sad is your confusion over what you should do about it. That level of disrespect can only lead to a continuance of the same, or worse. If seeing a photo of his face in another chick’s snatch is not enough to make you realize that he is not worth your time, I am not sure what would be. The fact that he has spent three-fourths of your marriage flirting with other women on the Internet and talking to them on the phone means that he is married but still looking. He clearly does not feel that you complete what he perceives to be his total package. You cannot make something work unless both parties are going to put forth the effort. So what if he cried? That’s what most men do when they get busted. They cry, beg for forgiveness, promise to never do it again, whip out their dicks to soothe things over, and then go right back to their doggish ways as soon as the opportunity presents itself; sometimes even the same day.

He may have denied it but you know it was him. Why would a man have a photo of another man performing oral sex on a woman in his phone? Besides, you can recognize your own husband; even if it is only the back of his head. You have two options: you can accept that your husband is going to cheat on you regardless of your feelings, or you can put a stop to the ridiculous situation. He is not going to do anything because since you have apparently accepted that nonsense, he thinks that he has it made. Unfortunately way too many women do put up with blatant disrespect and that’s why men continue to do it.

Blessings,
Zane

An Update from Zane

2010-04-23T09:09:00.000-04:00

Do not forget to check out "Zane's Sex Chronicles" tonight on Cinemax at 11:50 PM EST. The episode is called "The Stakeout" and you definitely don't want to miss it. We are more than halfway through the season and things are about to really heat up! If you are wondering about the web site that Hunter has been hanging out on to meet women on the show, www.blackgentlemen.com, does really exist. I own it and it is free to join. Please spread the word.

Also, my next book “The Hot Box” will be released in August. You can find the synopsis below. It is a “scorcher!”

Meanwhile, if you haven’t read “Total Eclipse of the Heart,” I hope that you will give it a shot. I have not heard one person say that they did not “LOVE” the book yet. That is a wonderful feeling as an author.

“Stealing Candy” by my protégé, Allison Hobbs, is being released in July, along with “The Punany Experience: The War Between Tops and Bottoms” by Jessica Holter of The Punany Poets. We are going to heat up your summer! Right now, if you make any purchase on www.zanestore.com, you will receive a free advanced reading copy of one of those titles. Yes, you can get them before anyone else!

You can also purchase the first season of “Zane’s Sex Chronicles” on DVD at www.zanestore.com.

As always, thanks for the love. I love and appreciate you all. Have a wonderful and productive weekend. And remember: When God doesn’t give you what you want, it is because it’s not what you need.

Follow me on Twitter at “PlanetZane.” MySpace at “Zaneland” and FaceBook as “ZaneStrebor.” Also, if you are really looking for the freakiest space on the Internet, join PlanetZane.org. In the coming weeks and months, I will be offering exclusive material only on Planet Zane. On Mondays, join me for my weekly Zaniac Chat at 10 PM EST. That is the only time and place that I chat. Planet Zane is 100% free so check it out.

Blessings,
Zane

The Hot Box by Zane

Two women plus four men equals nothing but drama. “Hotbox” is a baseball drill that can be played with three or more players and two to four bases. The players take turns between being fielders and runners, ultimately trying to tag the rest of the players out. In “The Hot Box” by Zane, best friends Milena and Lydia are playing the game along with Jacour, Yosef, Glenn, and Phil. The only problem: the men do not realize that they are playing.

Milena is a veterinarian who has lived a sheltered and dismal existence ever since leaving Jacour Bryant at the altar. Jacour had recently signed an eighty-five million dollar contract with the New York Yankees but Milena could not have cared less once she discovered his doggish ways. Jump ahead eight years and Jacour has returned to rural North Carolina to win Milena’s heart back… but there’s a serious problem. Milena has a new man; one that no one ever knew existed who has seemingly appeared out of nowhere. What ensues is a competition between Jacour and the mysterious and handsome stranger, Yosef, to win Milena’s heart, soul, and body that hasn’t been touched by a man in nearly a decade.

Lydia is the complete opposite of Milena; she does not believe in recycling her virginity. In fact, she utilizes her sex daily to get what she wants. Working part-time as a grocery cashier is simply not the life that she desires. Residing with Glenn, her lover of three years, she is also sexually active with his best friend, Phil. Glenn is her Mr. Right but Phil is her Mr. Good Sex. Lydia dreams of getting away from small town America but, until she can make that happen, she is prepared to do whatever it takes to continue to have her bills paid… on time. Everything is all-good until Phil decides that he wants to change the parameters of their relationship, forcing Lydia to make a choice that she is clearly not prepared to make.

Two women. Four men. Two love triangles. Three sections: Curveballs, Bases Loaded, and The Sweet Spot. Reading has never been this hot because once again, Zane is taking you outside of the box.

The Hot Box by Zane--Coming this August

2010-04-16T21:37:00.001-04:00

The Hot Box by Zane

Two women plus four men equals nothing but drama. “Hotbox” is a baseball drill that can be played with three or more players and two to four bases. The players take turns between being fielders and runners, ultimately trying to tag the rest of the players out. In “The Hot Box” by Zane, best friends Milena and Lydia are playing the game along with Jacour, Yosef, Glenn, and Phil. The only problem: the men do not realize that they are playing.

Milena is a veterinarian who has lived a sheltered and dismal existence ever since leaving Jacour Bryant at the altar. Jacour had recently signed an eighty-five million dollar contract with the New York Yankees but Milena could not have cared less once she discovered his doggish ways. Jump ahead eight years and Jacour has returned to rural North Carolina to win Milena’s heart back… but there’s a serious problem. Milena has a new man; one that no one ever knew existed who has seemingly appeared out of nowhere. What ensues is a competition between Jacour and the mysterious and handsome stranger, Yosef, to win Milena’s heart, soul, and body that hasn’t been touched by a man in nearly a decade.

Lydia is the complete opposite of Milena; she does not believe in recycling her virginity. In fact, she utilizes her sex daily to get what she wants. Working part-time as a grocery cashier is simply not the life that she desires. Residing with Glenn, her lover of three years, she is also sexually active with his best friend, Phil. Glenn is her Mr. Right but Phil is her Mr. Good Sex. Lydia dreams of getting away from small town America but, until she can make that happen, she is prepared to do whatever it takes to continue to have her bills paid… on time. Everything is all-good until Phil decides that he wants to change the parameters of their relationship, forcing Lydia to make a choice that she is clearly not prepared to make.

Two women. Four men. Two love triangles. Three sections: Curveballs, Bases Loaded, and The Sweet Spot. Reading has never been this hot because once again, Zane is taking you outside of the box.

Zane's Sex Chronicles on Cinemax Tonight

2010-04-16T14:36:00.001-04:00

Don't miss tonight's episode of "Zane's Sex Chronicles" on Cinemax at 11:50 PM. It is called "On The Prowl." Please spread the word.

Zane's Sex Chronicles Tonight!

2010-04-09T14:52:00.000-04:00

Please tune into Blind Date: Episode 6 of Zane’s Sex Chronicles, Season Two tonight at 11:35 PM on Cinemax. Thanks for all of the continuous support and love.

Also, I am extremely flattered to be among the other women in the below article on Black Voices.

http://www.bvonmoney.com/2010/04/08/top-10-african-american-women-business/

If you have not read my latest book Total Eclipse of the Heart, I hope that you will check it out.

For those of you interested in the DVDs of the first season of Zane’s Sex Chronicles, they can be purchased online from various web sites, including www.zanestore.com. Right now, if you place an order on www.zanestore.com, you will receive a free advanced reading copy of Allison Hobbs latest book, Stealing Candy. The book will not be released until July 2010 so you can be one of the first to read it. Like all of Allison Hobbs’ books, this one is a real page-turner. If you haven’t read any of her books, you are truly missing out as she is the only woman on the planet freakier than me.

As always, thanks for the love and the support. I truly love and appreciate you all.

Blessings,

Zane

Air Dates for Zane's Sex Chronicles

2010-04-07T12:05:00.001-04:00

Here are the airdates for the episode that premiered last Friday, in case you missed it, and the next three episodes. Please let everyone know. Thanks, Zane

Episode 17: Physical Therapy
April 2nd, 12:30am – EPISODE PREMIERE
April 4th, 3:00am
April 6th, 11:50pm
April 7th, 1:20am
April 10th, 12:10am
April 11th, 12:20am

Episode 18: Blind Date
April 9th, 11:35pm – EPISODE PREMIERE
April 11th, 12:50am
April 13th, 11:45pm
April 14th, 1:45am
April 17th, 1:10am

Episode 19: On the Prowl
April 16th, 11:50pm – EPISODE PREMIERE
April 18th, 3:10am
April 20th, 12:05am
April 21st, 3:00am
April 24th, 12:00am

Episode 20: The Stakeout
April 23rd, 11:50pm – EPISODE PREMIERE
April 25th, 3:00am
April 27th, 12:15am
April 28th, 1:30am
May 1st, 11:45pm
May 2nd, 12:40am

Excerpt of Big Juicy Lipps: Double Dippin' 2 by Allison Hobbs

2010-04-03T10:16:00.002-04:00

Here is an excerpt from the book Big Juicy Lipps by Allison Hobbs that I had Ana Marie reading at the end of the second episode this year. Like I said, Allison is on fire. You can get all of her titles on www.zanestore.com

CHAPTER 1

“I wonder if those creams really work.” Misty trailed a finger over Brick’s soft penis, trying to caress the sagging appendage back to life.

Lying on his back, his head resting on his clasped palms, Brick jerked himself upright. “What kind of cream?”

“Stay-hard cream,” she said nonchalantly, knowing Brick would become incensed.

“What the hell do I need that for?”

“It’s supposed to make you stay hard…last longer.” Misty sighed, withdrew her finger, clearly giving up on any hope that Brick would become erect.

“Cut that shit!” Brick scowled, further distorting his face, which was already disfigured by a cruel scar that ran jagged from his hairline down to his chin. “I pounded on you for two straight hours—killing that pussy. But I held back, didn’t bust ’til after you did.” Brick gave Misty a look of disbelief. “What? You expect my jawn to stay hard for two, three days?” Brick gave a little chuckle, but the sound lacked mirth. “Come on, Misty, stop being so greedy. I gotta get some sleep.” Brick rolled over on his side. He pulled the top sheet over his mountainous body and also over his head. His back, broad and hard as granite, was turned stubbornly toward Misty.

“You claim you love me, but you’re so selfish, sometimes!” Being spiteful, Misty plucked Brick in the back of his sheet-covered head.

“Stop frontin’; you know you got yours,” Brick mumbled, his face buried in the pillow.

“No, I didn’t. I didn’t get shit; I faked it! I knew you were tired, so I faked it so you could bust, rest up and start all over again. I didn’t think you’d lay your selfish ass down and try to get your snore on.” Growing more resentful by the minute, Misty swatted Brick with her pillow.

He threw the sheet off his head. “Stop lying. After all these years, you think I don’t know when your lil’ ass is faking?” He flung the pillow she’d hit him with, but used much more force than he’d intended. The thumping sound made by the pillow, as it connected with Misty in the face, resonated inside the bedroom.

Misty’s mouth dropped open, stunned that Brick had hit her. It didn’t matter that it was just a playful smack of a pillow and that no real harm had been done. She was furious at his audacity. The five-foot, one hundred and five pound little dynamo pummeled Brick’s hard-as-concrete arm and shoulder, but quickly realized that he barely felt the blows from her small fists. “Are you fuckin’ crazy?” she yelled and then, using all her strength, she elbowed him viciously, but couldn’t do any damage to the big man.

Brick laughed and said, “Ow! I might need an ambulance.”

Misty rubbed her cheek. “I don’t see anything funny about a big ass man whipping my ass and leaving welts all over my face.”

“Whipping your ass? Is that what you gon’ tell the po-po?” He laughed even harder, his loving eyes adoring her, despite her fury.

“It’s not funny, Brick! My face feels like it’s starting to swell up.”

Brick sat up. His unattractive, scarred face was frowned in confusion and concern. “I didn’t mean to throw the pillow that hard. Misty, baby. I’m sorry, aiight?”

“No! It’s not aiight. You threw that jawn like it was a football; acting like you Donovan McNabb or somebody.”

Gently, the giant of a man pulled Misty’s small, delicate hand away from her face. With increased concern, he scrutinized the right side of her undeniably beautiful face and then he inspected the left side. “It’s aiight, Misty. Ain’t no marks,” he said, genuinely contrite. “I didn’t mean it. You know I forget my strength. I’d hurt myself before I’d put a mark on your pretty face.” Involuntarily, his hand touched the gruesome, jagged scar on his face, taking both him and Misty back to the dreadful night it happened.

Shaking away the memory, Misty refused to dwell on the past. “You gotta stop playin’ all the time. If it wasn’t for me—the way I look—we couldn’t make any money. Shit, we wouldn’t get in all those clubs for free or nothing,” Misty sighed, giving Brick a look of disgust. Suddenly, she grimaced and clutched her stomach.

“What’s wrong? Did I go too far up in you?”

“No,” she uttered in a pained, raspy whisper. “Cramps.” She bent at the waist and commenced to rock and moan softly.

The worry lines that intermingled with his jagged scar made Brick appear more grotesque than he actually was. “I didn’t know you had cramps. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You were acting all sleepy and everything, so I was going to try to get you in the mood—trying to get you aroused.”

Brick’s eyes saddened. “Misty, baby, why’d you let me fuck you so hard if your stomach was hurting?”

“It wasn’t that bad, yet.”

“So, why you have to come at me all shady, pretending that you were horny? If I banged you again, you’d be in worse pain.” He looked in her eyes intently. “You gotta let me know, when you feeling bad. It don’t matter how tired I am, I’d never go to sleep and leave you laying awake, in pain. And you know it.” His voice rose in anger.

“I said that I’m sorry for not telling you, so stop yelling. That’s not making it any better.” Annoyed, Misty sighed and rolled her eyes.

“Can I get something off of my chest?” he asked, voice lowered.

She nodded, her expression becoming increasingly pained.

“Why you got so much game, Misty? You be trying to get over when you don’t even have to?”

Misty smiled sheepishly. “I’m sorry, Brick. You know that I have a big problem with honesty.”

“I know.” Brick caressed her silky hair. “It’s all good, though. You were a born scam artist. Real talk; your game is tight. But you act like you in this by yourself.” He shook his head. “I’m on your side. How many times I gotta prove myself? I’m ride or die.” Brick nodded, emphatically.

“I know you’re on my side, Brick,” she said, and tenderly traced his scar with her fingertip, silently acknowledging the sacrifice he’d made for her.

“This is our crib,” Brick went on. “This is where you rest your head at night. When you come home, you gotta leave all the game at the door.”

Pretending remorse, Misty lowered her head, while Brick continued to adoringly run his fingers through her long hair. Misty spoke softly. “I hear what you’re saying, but don’t get it twisted. I like you and everything, but there ain’t nothing but larceny in my heart. That’s how I keep us living good. My brain is working overtime, always figuring out new ways to scam mufuckas. I don’t have time for that lovey dovey shit. Feel me?”

He nodded, head bowed in sorrow.

“Don’t take it personally, Brick. It’s hard doing what I do,” she said, pouting.

“I know, I know.” Brick raised his head, reached up and massaged Misty’s shoulders.

“And tonight…dealing with all this pain—” She winced and pressed her hands against her stomach. “I can’t think straight. Brick, you gotta make a run to the store. Get me some Midol for these cramps.”

“Midol! You don’t need that! Whatchu think you got me for? I got the best remedy for your cramps.”

“Well, do something. I’m in pain,” she whimpered, biting her lip as if fighting unbearable agony.

Brick repositioned Misty, pulled her to the edge of the bed, allowing her legs to dangle. He bent low and crouched between her thighs.

Misty shivered when she felt Brick’s rough facial hairs scrape against her thighs. “I’m sorry for lying to you, Brick,” she murmured, speaking in the fake, tiny voice she used on tricks, Brick, and her mother to get what she wanted.

She could feel Brick’s semen starting to bubble outside her pussy, slowly saturating her pubic hairs.

“Hold up,” he said. “I’ll get a washcloth and clean you up.”

“Ow!” she blurted and rubbed her stomach frantically.

Brick looked in the direction of the bathroom and back at Misty. “You hurting, real bad?”

“Yes,” she whimpered. “Oh, God!” she cried out, and tried to sit up as if the pain had gone up a notch. The extra effort exerted inadvertently caused more semen to erupt and trickle out. Misty pressed her thighs together, while moaning in pain. “Hurry up, Brick, go get the washcloth,” she said, pitifully. She knew he disliked the sour taste of his own semen and only ate her cum-drenched pussy under extreme emergencies. But watching him suck his thick ejaculation out of her coochie aroused her like crazy; gave her a body-quacking orgasm.

She pretended to cry.

“Don’t cry, Misty, baby. You know I gotchu, girl,” Brick assured her with eyes filled with love.

Playing her part to the hilt, Misty continued to twist and writhe, all the while rubbing her stomach and moaning, “It hurts. Oh, Brick. Help me, it hurts so bad.” She could feel a thick stream of his semen, trailing down one of her thighs. Just in case the sight of it repelled him, she cunningly took her theatrics to another level, sobbing as if she were in critical condition.

“Relax, Misty. Open your legs.”

Misty wanted to break into a wide grin, but she grimaced as if in excruciating pain. Brick tenderly parted her thighs. She could feel the slimy ejaculation, now stuck on both thighs. Brick’s loving lips went straight to the center of her semen-saturated honey pot, sucking and kissing it; showing her coochie mad love. He gently separated her cum-stuck pussy lips with his moist tongue. Once he had her pussy wide open, he sucked on her snatch—healing it—giving it mouth to mouth resuscitation.

He went from sucking to licking. His tongue strokes felt so good, so soothing, it took an enormous amount of willpower for Misty to resist wrapping her legs around his neck and grinding her slushy coochie all over his scarred face. “Mmm,” she uttered spontaneously. “Oh, baby. I feel so much better,” she moaned, twisting and shuddering, no longer able to restrain herself.

“You sure?”

“Uh-huh.” She sounded tentative.

“Go for it, then.”

“For real?”

“Yeah,” Brick said, huskily. “Don’t worry about me. Do you. Get your thing off, baby.”

That was all Misty needed to hear. She placed frantic pussy rotations on Brick’s lips for a few moments. Then crudely, disrespectfully, she slid her cunt up and down his face, abusively smearing cum and pussy juice on his forehead, eyelids, nose, mouth, and chin, all the while crying out and calling Brick horrible, degrading names.

Seconds later, Misty felt her coochie walls contracting. Heightening her arousal, she called Brick an ugly monster, a beast, and every other deplorable name that seemed fitting. Squeezing her eyes tightly, she geared up for an erotic explosion that would soon gush out and splatter Brick’s ugly face.

CHAPTER 2

Misty’s body shook from the final, orgasmic tremor.

“Feel better?” Brick’s face was shiny, glazed from her juices. Misty sat up and looked at him. She turned up her nose. She scooted backward. “Eew! You stink, Brick. Your face smells rank; like cum.”

Misty’s spiteful words stung badly, but Brick kept the hurt from appearing on his face. “Yeah, you’re feelin’ better,” he said as he got off his knees. “You’re back to your same ol’ evil, ways.”

Recoiling, Misty grimaced. “Back up, away from me! I’m not trying to talk to you with all that stank cum crusted up in your beard and your mustache. Go, wash your face!”

“You must have a stank pussy ’cause your pussy juice is mixed up in there, too,” he retorted weakly as he headed toward the bathroom. Brick tried to play it off.

Misty could tell his feelings were hurt, but she didn’t care. “My coochie does not have an odor. Your foul-ass seed is funking up the whole bedroom,” she added, maliciously, scowling and fanning her face.

The sound of water running in the sink indicated that Brick was handling his business. Misty looked down at her thighs and recoiled. “Bring me a warm washcloth! Cum is smeared all over my legs. Why you so nasty, Brick?” Then she felt around and snatched her hand back in anger. “Damn, you get on my nerves!”

“Now, what I do?” he called from the bathroom.

“It looks like you shot a gallon of cum. Slimy shit is all over the sheets and everything. I can’t sleep overtop of no cum-stained sheets. You have to change this bed linen. Hurry up!”

“Aiight, gimme a minute. I got rid of your cramps and everything, but I can’t even get a half-ass thank you,” he said, glumly. “Brick, do this . . . Brick, do that . . .” he complained, mimicking her loud, high-pitched voice.

“Hurry up!” She’d been bossing him around for as long as she could remember. She squinted in thought. Hmmm. She’d met Brick back in first or second grade. He was in the class with the slow learners. She was in the accelerated class. His dumb ass wouldn’t know which way to turn if she didn’t point him in the right direction.

Brick was six feet four and two hundred and sixty pounds of solid muscle. Misty was barely five feet and weighed one hundred and two pounds. Tiny and mighty, Misty was the boss bitch in their relationship.

He entered the bedroom with a soapy, warm washcloth in his hand. A set of sheets were tucked under his arm. He laid the clean bed linen at the foot of the bed and cleaned the crusted cum off Misty’s thighs and outside her vagina. Very carefully, he separated her inner folds and cleaned the soft pink flesh. “Aiight, you’re straight. Get up so I can make the bed.”

“I’m tired,” Misty whined.

“You gotta get your lazy lil’ ass up if you want to sleep on clean sheets.”

Lazily, Misty eased off the bed. “You must not be working hard enough,” she informed him as she watched him pull the rumpled top sheet off the bed.

“What! It’s two in the morning . . . you sent me on that appointment. I came home and fucked you, I ate your pussy, I cleaned your pussy, and now you got me changing the bed. What more do you want me to do?” Brick sounded hurt, but Misty’s expression held no compassion.

“Yo, nigga,” she said, twisting her neck and injecting bass in her feminine voice. “You shot out a gallon of cum. There’s no way in hell you should be shooting a big load like that, if you’re working as hard as you should.” Misty snorted. “But that’s on me; I’ll take the responsibility for it. I’ve been too soft on you. But you better believe, playtime time is over. You gotta step up your game.”

Solemnly, Brick continued making the bed, his head hung low. Misty wasn’t moved by the ‘poor Brick’ routine.

“We got bills to pay. You can’t hustle a couple times a week and think it’s all good. Shit, just gassing up the new truck is costing us a grip. You gotta start bringing in more money and it’s my job to push you to make sure you do.”

Brick’s brows crinkled together. “Baby, I think it’s all the shopping you do that keeps us in the hole.”

Misty reared back in shock. “What! You expect me to go around looking like a ragamuffin?”

“That ain’t what I’m saying.”

“Whatchu saying, then?”

“I know you have to keep your gear up. I’m just saying, you shop two or three times a day; sometimes four. Don’t you think that might be a problem?”

“No! And you shouldn’t either. If shopping makes me feel good, you just shut the fuck up and keep that money coming.”

“I can take on some part-time work,” he said in a meek voice.

She gave a loud, derisive, snort.

“I could start robbing niggas again,” he suggested. “That’s an easy hustle.”

“Look at me, Brick,” Misty said through clenched teeth. He didn’t look up. “Look the fuck at me!” she yelled.

Prompted by her tone, Brick looked her directly in the eye. Curled, naked in a chair, Misty glared at him, making him squirm for a few uncomfortable moments. “How long have I been looking out for you—for us?” she asked with strained patience.

“A long time,” he muttered.

“How long!” she shouted.

“Since we were kids.”

“Don’t you think by now, I know what’s best for us?”

Brick nodded.

“Do you know how fuckin’ stupid you sound, talkin’ about robbing mufuckas? First of all, that shit is illegal. I don’t know about you, but I’m not planning on doing anymore time. Second, robbing niggas only brings in a coupla dollars—it’s unpredictable employment. I’m not psychic and neither are you. I can’t point out a mufucka and calculate how much he’s carrying in his pocket or how much loot he can withdraw from the ATM machine. But the hustle we got going on is bringing in a lot of cheese. I have a master plan that’s gonna have us rolling in dough. But you have to cooperate.”

“I will,” he agreed.

“I’m gonna put up a website, featuring you. After I get that going, we’ll be counting so much IRS-can’t-tax money, we’ll have to hire somebody to set up an offshore bank account for us.”

Horror covered Brick’s face. “You wanna put me on a website?”

“Do you know how many people we could reach, if your King Kong dong was presented online? The way we’re handling things is requiring a whole lot of unnecessary legwork. Once I get the website poppin’, the sky’s the limit,” she said proudly.

“I don’t like that idea, Misty.”

Misty was momentarily silent. Seething, she looked at him through narrowed eyes. “Oh, really? I guess you forgot where you came from.”

“I didn’t forget.”

“Nigga, who took up for you when the kids teased your ass in school?”
“You did,” he mumbled, looking pained by the unpleasant and harsh shove down memory lane.

“And who was standing next to you, cheering like a fuckin’ Laker Girl, the first time you had the heart to go upside a nigga’s head?”

“You was, Misty, baby. You gave me the nerve to crack nigga’s heads.”

“I damn sure did,” she snarled. “You were scared of your own shadow until I made you believe you could whip everybody’s ass.” She stared at him for a few moments. “Did I lie?”

“No, you ain’t lie.”

“How did me and you—two fourth graders—manage to beat middle school niggas out of their lunch money?”

“’Cause you gave me my heart,” Brick admitted, looking resigned to having his image posted on a website.

On a rant, Misty sucked in a big burst of air. “So, how come when I got locked up two years ago you couldn’t do shit for me or for your damn self? You almost starved to death when I got popped. But as soon as I got out, we started eating again, didn’t we?”

Brick nodded, head held low. “True dat. You right.”

“I hate to talk about Shane—God rest his soul—but Shane was supposed to be your boy—your best friend, but he didn’t look out for you. Shane was all about self—” Misty paused and swallowed. “The only other person he gave a fuck about was his twin, or so he claimed, but after what he did to Tariq, we now know Shane only cared about Shane.” Misty and Brick both went silent as they mused over the night Shane Batista’s twin brother, Tariq, was hit by a car and killed after witnessing Shane in bed with his wife, Janelle. Shane lost his mind and was never the same.

Misty shook the memory away. “While I was doing that bid, you were ass-out, with nobody you could depend on.” Though she talked harshly of Shane, in her heart, she held no ill will toward him. In fact, she hated having to drag Shane’s name through the mud just to get through Brick’s thick skull.

True, Shane was selfish as hell at times, but he also had a sweet, giving side. To know him was to love and hate him—it depended on how he wanted you to feel. If Shane Batista wanted something—he turned on the charm. If he didn’t need shit from you, he gave you his ass to kiss, which was why Misty had fallen hard for him, and had loved him until the day he died. Despite everything, she’d always believed that Shane loved her too. It was a heartbreaking, soul-wrenching discovery, when Misty’s found out that Shane had knocked up and married some goodie-two shoes named Kapri.

Later, when she learned that he’d gotten a divorce and had turned around and married his dead brother’s ugly-ass wife, she’d damn near had a nervous breakdown.

When she’d heard that Shane had committed suicide, she was distraught over the loss of that good dick. Oh, well. Rest in peace, Shane. Misty returned her thoughts to the present, and gave Brick a scathing look.

“I’ve been carrying your weight too many years for you to tell me that I’m making a bad decision. One thing I can’t stand is an ungrateful, nigga.”

Brick abandoned the bed-making task and approached the chair where Misty sat. “I’m sorry for questioning your decisions and for acting ungrateful. I know we gotta eat, baby. I’m real sorry.”

“Yeah, we gotta eat steak and seafood. Fuck Ramen damn noodles,” Misty added with laughter.

Looking pleased that he’d been able to lift her spirits, Brick threw in, “Yeah, fuck Ramen Noodles and Cheese Curls.”

“That’s not funny, Brick. Why’d you have to bring up Cheese Curls? You always gotta fuck up my mood.” Her facial expression turned angry; her tone, resentful.

Brick stared at her, wide-eyed. “What did I do?”

“Why you gotta talk about prison food? Damn! You know how much I despise being reminded of that mess I had to eat while I was in jail.” She shook her head. “Ramen Noodles and Cheese Curls!” Misty repeated, grimacing as she spat out each word. She cut her eyes at the partially-made bed. “Why is it taking so long to change the sheets?”

You Are Loved and Appreciated

2010-04-02T13:21:00.002-04:00

Please tune in to Zane’s Sex Chronicles tonight at 12:30 AM for Episode Five of the Second Season. Patience really ignites a fire underneath Hunter that you do not want to miss.

Also, through tomorrow night at midnight, you can enter “ZSC” as your coupon code on http://www.zanestore.com/ and save an additional 10% off your entire order. If you have not read Allison Hobbs, if you love my reads, you will be blown away by hers. She has more than a dozen titles and counting. Do not sleep on her.

The first season of Zane’s Sex Chronicles is also available on http://www.zanestore.com/, along with all of the other writers that I publish. Please give them a chance because they are all phenomenal. If you would like for me to personally sign any titles, please put that request in the Comments section on the order form. I would be delighted.

Thanks for all of the love for Total Eclipse of the Heart. It was one of my favorite books to write and it was the most touching for me to experience.

If no one has told you that you are loved and appreciated today, I love and appreciate you.

Blessings,
Zane

Virgin Lez

2010-04-01T19:34:00.000-04:00

Dear Zane,

You have really helped me to be sexually open with men. I have been with my partner of three years; she is my first lesbian relationship and sexual partner. We get along fine and are the best of friends but, sexually, we are drifting apart. I will admit that it has resulted with me cheating last year. She forgave me and moved past it. Since then, we have tried some new things—all my ideas—but my sexual appetite is still not satisfied. Is it me? I’m starting to feel like an addict. She isn’t as sexually open as I prefer. Part of me wants to put the relationship on hold for a while to explore, but I feel that it’s not worth the risk of losing her. Usually, I am good at making decisions but I am really confused on what to do. Please help.

Signed,

Virgin Lez

Dear Virgin Lez,

I would be very curious to know if you cheated on her with a man or a woman. Since you said “she is” your first lesbian relationship and sexual partner, I am going to make the assumption that you cheated with a man. Therein might lie the real problem. Could it be that you are not satisfied because you still have a yearning for men?

I do not believe that you are an addict. Too many people use that term much too loosely. Yes, sexual addiction is a real disease and I have written much about it but unless you are running around sleeping with random strangers without thinking about it first, you are not an addict. What you are is unsatisfied with your current situation. You are not sexually compatible with your lover, and that may or may not have something to do with her being female. Yet and still, you want something that she is not providing and neither one of you is to blame. People are just people and the most important thing in life it so be happy.

If you ask to take a break, chances are that you will be permanently ending the intimate relationship. Think about it. If someone told you that they wanted to take a break to explore other possibilities, you would think that it meant you were not considered good enough for them; especially after three years. Most people are not going to risk having their heart broken by the same person twice; the sting is bad enough the first time.

You need to decide what your true feelings are for this woman. Three years is a huge chunk out of life in the true perspective of things. If everything else is going okay, you might want to stick it out, but only you can decide how important sex is to you. At least you are having sex together. There are a ton of couples that have not slept together in years, but put on pretenses for the kids and other onlookers. You have not cheated since last year and that is a good sign but you need to determine why it happened and how you can prevent it from happening again. If you cannot figure those two things out, you may need to put her well-being first and set her free. Otherwise, it is all destined to happen again.

Blessings,

Zane

Engaged to One Man but In Love With Another

2010-04-01T10:30:00.000-04:00

Dear Zane,

I’m in a very confusing, stressful situation. I’m caught in a love triangle. I’m currently engaged to be married to a man that I like to convince myself that I love. On the other hand, I’m in love with another man. Both have something the other doesn’t have but my lover is that one that I’m more attracted to physically… and sexually. I’ve tried to forget my lover many times, but I can’t resist. I can’t leave my fiancé because we have so much together. I really don’t know how to decide. Please, Zane, help me!

Signed,
Stressed and Confused

Dear Stressed and Confused,

You are not going to want to hear my answer but I suspect you have already come to the same conclusion. You are obviously with your fiancé because the two of you are tied together financially. You probably live together in a nice home, have comingled finances, and are, on the surface, building a stable life in unity. However, you are trying to convince yourself that you love him but you know for a fact that you are “in love” with the other man.

You cannot control your feelings and if you cannot resist your lover before the wedding, you will not be able to stay away from him after the nuptials. That begs the question: why get married in the first place if you are not going to be true to your vows? I seriously doubt that the other man loves you. Most men will not share a woman sexually that they have deep feelings for. He considers you a “sex piece” and is probably enjoying the fact that he is getting it whenever he wants it without having to make a commitment. He does not have that worry because another man has already done it.

You are wrong, point blank, and nothing good can continue with you going on this path. My suggestion is that you break off your engagement because you do not even love the man. He deserves better and even though there will be initial drama and heartbreak, it is better to do it now than 5-10 years down the road when children are involved and you are tied together even more financially. What you are doing it not fair and you would not want him to be with you for material reasons and be sleeping with another woman for love.

As for the other man, you would be delusional to think that he would ever see you as a serious prospect for marriage after this. Now, in my vast history of experience, I know of one man who married a woman that he had initially had an affair with while she was married to someone else. And yes, she ended up cheating on him also later on down the road. You really need to get yourself together INDEPENDENTLY and not allow yourself to be defined by the man—or men—that occupy your bed. I do not honestly expect you to take my advice. Like I said, you more-than-likely knew all of this already but since you asked, here it is.

Blessings,
Zane

Zane's Sex Chronicles Premieres on Cinemax Tonight

2010-03-05T08:49:00.001-05:00

Do not forget to tune into Cinemax tonight at 11:30 PM EST for the second season of Zane's Sex Chronicles

Zane in Chicago

2010-02-25T21:04:00.001-05:00

I will be in Chicago this weekend at the following places. Hope to see you all there. Blessings, Zane

Friday, Feb 26

7:00pm signing

BORDERS

2210 W. 95th Street

Chicago, IL 60643

773-445-5471

Saturday , feb 27tth

1-3pm

K-MART #4235

7050 S PULASKI RD

CHICAGO, IL 60629-5824

4-6pm

KMART #7416

17550 HALSTED ST

HOMEWOOD, IL 60430-2006

The Second Season of Zane's Sex Chronicles Tomorrow Night on Cinemax!

2010-02-12T11:18:00.000-05:00

The second season of Zane’s Sex Chronicles premieres on March 5^th. However, since everyone has waited so patiently, I have a special treat for you for Valentine’s Day. You can see the first episode of the Second Season THIS SATURDAY, February 13^th, at 11:30 PM on Cinemax. Please spread the word and let me know what you think once you view it.

Please go to this link for more information: http://www.cinemax.com/afterdark/series/zane/index.html

Also, do not forget to pick up your DVD set for the first season of the show, available now.

http://www.amazon.com/Zanes-Sex-Chronicles-Patrice-Fisher/dp/B002VKB0NI/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=dvd&qid=1265936156&sr=1-1

And, of course, I appreciate all of the love for all of my endeavors but my first love is still writing. If you have not had a chance to read my latest novel, Total Eclipse of the Heart, please give it a shot.

http://www.amazon.com/Total-Eclipse-Heart-Zane/dp/0743499298/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1265936726&sr=1-1

Blessings,

Zane

Ezcerpt from Total Eclipse of the Heart by Zane-Available Now!

2009-11-30T15:28:00.001-05:00

Greetings! As promised, here is a sneak preview of Total Eclipse of the Heart. I did not put the opening chapter because, quite frankly, the book starts off with a graphic sex scene that had both of my parents asking me, “Why did you have to have all of that on the first page?”-LOL
I hope that you enjoy this excerpt and the book itself. This is my first book available on audio as well. I am very excited and wondering how people will react to the novel. As always, my writing means a lot to me and I had to go deep inside myself—someplace else even—to find the inspiration and passion to write it.
Blessings,Zane
Total Eclipse of the Heart by ZaneRelease Date: December 1, 2009
Order your copy at: http://www.amazon.com/Total-Eclipse-Heart-Zane/dp/0743499298/
Brooke Alexander, a waitress who has self-esteem issues regarding her lackluster existence and her fluctuating weight, is in love with Patrick Sterling, one of the most prominent attorneys in Washington, D.C. On his good days, Patrick is the man in every woman's dream. On his bad days, Patrick's behavior is demeaning and he is angry at the world.Damon Johnson, who's been married to Carleigh for four years, is one of "the last good men" -- compassionate and honest, he worships the ground his wife walks on. But Carleigh treats Damon like a trophy husband, allowing her friends to salivate over him and disrespect their happy home. Damon has dreams beyond his six-figure corporate job, and Carleigh views his life aspirations as a joke. Her selfish nature makes Damon wonder if he made the right decision when he asked for her hand in marriage.When a tragic event causes Brooke's and Damon's lives to intersect, truths unfold as they begin to reflect on their own relationships.In this provocative tale of love and heartbreak, Zane explores what happens when you cater to your emotional well-being and discover the meaning of unconditional love...or, rather, experience a total eclipse of the heart.
Damon JohnsonJuly 4, 2007Wheaton, MarylandCarleigh, I’m telling you. That motherfucker is too fine for words. I bet he blows your back out every damn night.”“You ain’t never lied, Jordan. Do you see that rocket in those shorts? I can see that damn thing all the way over here.”“Do I see it? Girl, it’s making me hungry. I’m starving and I’m not talking about those ribs on the grill.”“Yeah, forget about him cooking out here. I wouldn’t mind heating up some shit in the bedroom.”“Carleigh, tell us the truth. Can you even handle all that man? He looks like he needs at least four or five women to keep him satisfied.”“Ya’ll crazy. I keep my shit on point. Damon is well taken care of, thank you very much.”“Well, if you ever need some backup pussy, give a sister a call. You can call me twenty-four/seven.”“I know that’s right. Call me, too. Shit, I’ll settle for simply watching him go to work. Give me a bowl of buttered popcorn, a Pepsi, and a front-row seat.”“You all better find you a man on Damon’s website and leave mine to me.”“Please, those men on that website are full of crap. Last few good men, my ass.”“What about Bobby and Steve? They’re cute, in an old-fashioned sort of way.”“Carleigh, you need glasses. Those suckers aren’t cute by any stretch of the imagination.”“You hear those pigeons over there?” Steve asked, as I threw another slab of baby back ribs onto the grill.“How can I not hear them?” I replied. “Carleigh’s friends are a trip.”Bobby grabbed a barbecued chicken leg out of the pan and started gnawing it down to the bone. “Have any of them ever actually tried to get busy?”I smirked. “They have no shame in their game. I’ll leave it at that.”“Oh, come on,” Steve said. “Spill the beans. You know women aren’t the only ones who gossip.”“Don’t I know it,” I said. “You and Bobby are worse than any women that I’ve ever seen. All you chatter about is your sex lives, or lack thereof.”“Rub that shit in, why don’t you?” Bobby popped the tab on his third beer. “I’m this close to finding the lady of my dreams.” With his free hand he pressed his thumb and index fingers together. “I’m simply taking my time. I only plan on getting married once.”“Everybody only plans to get married once,” Steve said.“True,” Bobby admitted. “But I’m not going to end up like a lot of these peeps. I have zero intention of being on my third or fourth marriage by the time I’m forty. I want to settle down, father some legacies to carry on my name, and have readily available pussy in my bed every night.”I laughed. “Seems like you have it all figured out.”Steve looked at me. “When are you and Carleigh going to have some kids? You’ve been married for going on four years.”“Damn, you sound like my mother. Everything happens in due time.” I flipped the ribs over and took another sip of my orange juice. I don’t know why I felt like I had to defend my manhood, since neither of them were getting sex on the regular. Yet, I felt compelled to add, “It’s not from lack of sex that we don’t have a child. I can tell you that much.”Bobby glanced at my cup of juice and shook his head. “Damon, I don’t see how you do it.”“Do what?”“Refrain from drinking alcohol.”“Is liquor a requirement these days?” I asked.“No, but, shit, it helps take the edge off,” Bobby replied.I glanced down at Bobby’s beer gut and chuckled.“Preach!” Steve said, cosigning as he poured himself some whiskey—his drink of choice—into a cup. “Life is stressful and I need to be able to relax.”“Well, I work out to relax.”They both smirked, hating on me because of my body.Bobby looked over at the women sitting around the table on the deck still talking trash, and then back at me. “Damon, I have to admit. You have it all. A fine wife.”“Amen,” Steve said.“A nice crib.”“Amen.”“A good job.”“Amen again.”“One of the hottest up‑and-coming websites.”“Amen four times.”“And you’re cut like a statue.”Steve said, “I’m not commenting on another man’s body. There I draw the line; but amen to all that other shit.”We all laughed as I finished up the grilling so we could eat before the fireworks started later on that evening.As we sat around the deck eating, Carleigh’s friends continued on their tirade about how fine I was. They loved scoping out men in general, but they especially loved checking me out. Most women would feel uncomfortable if their girlfriends acted like they wanted to fuck their husband on sight, but not my Carleigh. She had me hooked and she knew it. In her mind, there was zero chance of me cheating on her. She was right.While Steve and Bobby were both single and looking, I will be the first to admit that most of my other buddies had a problem with being devoted to one woman, even if they had exchanged marriage vows. I’d taken mine seriously. Carleigh and I had been married for four glorious years and I wouldn’t have traded her for all the women in the world. Men tend to be egotistical creatures, and some of my married friends had the nerve to get pissed if their mistress or mistresses stepped out on them. That defied logic, but it made perfect sense to them.There are some decent men, but the silly, immature men make it hard for women to differentiate. On the other hand, so many women play games that men have to be damn near as cautious, or they’ll be somewhere feeling dejected or used. That was one reason why I was glad that I’d settled down early in life. Well, early for this day and age. During the last century, people married young—such as fifteen or sixteen—and had four or five kids by the time they were twenty-five. I got married at twenty-five; Carleigh was twenty-three; and while some of our friends had jumped the broom, most of them had not.Carleigh and I met at the Essence Music Festival in New Orleans. She was there with her best friends Jordan and Sharon, and I was there with my ex‑girlfriend. I know, I know. It makes me out to seem doggish, but I really am not. Fran and I were on our way downhill long before then. In fact, that trip was our last-ditch effort to make love out of nothing at all. We simply were not compatible, and it showed daily. Too many people stay, waiting for the other person to break it off. A lot of men start searching for their next woman so they won’t have a dry spell once the shit does hit the fan. I’ll admit that I was somewhere in limbo between those two things when I boarded that flight to Louisiana.Fran got down there and started flirting with men every chance that she got. I found her cuddled up in a corner with a man in the hotel lounge the very night we arrived. She claimed that they had known each other for years, but the lie was obvious. I could tell by the expression on his face that he had no clue what the fuck she was talking about. He was trolling for sex and thought he had got lucky. If I hadn’t come down to see what was taking Fran so long—she was supposed to be getting one drink “to knock the edge off ” and then coming back up—she would probably have ventured back to his room and got her freak on.I had suspected Fran of cheating for a while. The clues were there. Late nights at the office. Girlfriends with constant weekend emergencies. Her mother always needing a ride to a doctor’s appointment or the grocery store. Returning home looking guilty, every single time. Even though I suspected that she was disrespecting me, I still did the right thing.When I met Carleigh outside the Superdome on our last night, the magnetism was instant. She bumped into me while Fran was in the long-ass line for the ladies’ room. She had on a Washington Redskins T‑shirt, so I asked where she was from. I was pleasantly surprised when we realized that we were homies. People from the Washington, D.C., area say that they are from D.C. even if they live an hour out in the suburbs. Carleigh was from Largo, and I was currently living in Silver Spring.We exchanged business cards for purely innocent reasons. She was a Realtor and I was looking to purchase a new home. It was all legitimate, I swear. Fran didn’t see it that way. When she returned from the ladies’ room, she looked like she wanted to wring Carleigh’s neck. I introduced them, but Fran wouldn’t even shake Carleigh’s hand. Damn shame how some women act so catty.To make an extremely long-ass story short, when we returned home, I informed Fran that it was time for her to hit the road and make other living arrangements. She threatened to sue me or to keep it simple and sever my dick. That didn’t make me stay with her. For the life of me, I don’t understand the latest trend of people suing one another when they break up. If you are not married, what the hell should someone owe you? You both took a chance and the situation didn’t work out. Why should someone have to pay you to move your ass on? I have noticed the trait even more with men than women. Brothers demanding that a woman help pay their bills if they get kicked out of the woman’s home. First off, they should be the main provider and not be living off her in the first place. Second, if it is time to move the fuck on, just do it. Fran couldn’t grasp that reality.The situation was unhealthy for both of us and needed to end sooner as opposed to later. Fran accused me of fucking Carleigh in New Orleans. That was absurd, I informed her. I met Carleigh the last night of our trip, and Fran and I left the concert together, went to a late dinner, then hit the sack. There was zero space and even less opportunity for me to fuck anybody but her. Fran was determined to make that hypothesis work for her. She suggested that I may have drugged her, then snuck out of the room. That did it, because any woman who thought that I was that hard up or insane over getting pussy was a complete nut. I helped Fran pack and dropped her off at her sister’s condo in Rockville, then told her to misplace my number.Carleigh and I hooked up the following Saturday—not for sex but to check out offered properties. I will confess that I was checking out her body more than the houses, but it all worked itself out. I was the perfect gentleman the entire three months that she helped me to locate the idyllic home. It was even more crucial that I find a new house by then. I was trying to get absolute closure from my dealings with Fran, and we had shacked up together for over a year.While her name was never on the deed, her memory was still there, and I believed in starting anew.Fran thought that she would be moving with me when I found my new spot. That was another reason for the timing of our breakup. I didn’t want to give her the delusion that we would be setting up another home as a couple. For a minute, she had become a stalker, parking down the street and setting up overnight surveillance to see what I was doing. Yeah, I had to get the hell out of there.After I moved into my four-bedroom, three-and-a-half-bathroom, all-brick home in Wheaton, I decided to sever the business association with Carleigh and ask her out on an official date. We had been out to eat numerous times, but never as a prelude to the possibilities. I didn’t want her to feel any pressure to hook up with me based on making a real estate commission. Too many men make women feel uncomfortable with the “what I can do for you” bullshit.We dated for about six months and realized that we were true soul mates. Carleigh made me feel comfortable, and women don’t realize how important something so simple can mean to a man. I could be myself around her, and she would often express the same to me. I asked her father for her hand in marriage, and four years later, it was still all good. She was the yin to my yang, and we seemed to complement each other in every way.The fireworks that night were unremarkable. In our backyard, we could view those set off from a large, nearby park. Granted, we could have headed down to the National Mall in D.C. or to the Baltimore Harbor, but we were too full and preferred to chill out. Carleigh curled up beside me on a blanket on our back lawn. Some of our neighbors were shooting off little rockets and running around with sparklers. I remember doing that shit as a child. My boys and I thought we were pyrotechnic experts until Chris got burned on the arm. The next year, and every year after that, we didn’t touch anything hazardous. Instead, we watched other little knuckleheads get hurt and laughed at them.After the fireworks show was over, I went into the house to put my digital camera away in my home office. Jordan came in right behind me and shut the door. I hadn’t even seen the snake get up off the lawn, rather less slither behind me with her fangs exposed.“Yes?” I asked.“What are you doing?”“Putting my camera away. That should be obvious.” I knew where this was headed, so I asked, “Where’s Carleigh?”“In her skin.” She laughed, teasing her hair with her index finger like she had invented an original line instead of repeating a tired-ass one. “Why don’t you put the camera away and take something else out?”Yup, it was definitely headed there.“How many times do I have to tell you? I’m not fooling around with you. I don’t want you. I love Carleigh, and I have no intention of cheating. You need to get some of that built-up wax out your damn ears.”“Speaking of wax, I got a Brazilian the other day.”“I’m thrilled. Now, can you please step off?!” I waved her away like a wasp since that’s what she reminded me of. The female wasps can paralyze their prey with their sting. She was not about to reel me in. “You need to find a man someplace other than in this house.”“You’re beginning to sound like a broken record.”“And you’re beginning to act like a broken woman.” I plopped down in my leather desk chair. “Jordan, you’re an eye-catching woman. There are tons of single guys in the D.C. area. You need to stop harping on this shit with me. It’s nonsense and it’s not happening. Not today, not tomorrow, and not even when cars start flying.”She came closer and sat on top of my desk, lowering her tube top so I could see her breasts. “Do you like what you see?”“No, I don’t.”I sighed. “Every woman has a pair of tits; I’m not overwhelmed.”“What if I show you my pussy?”“Every woman has one of those, too. If you don’t stop harassing me every time you come over here, I will tell Carleigh.”“No, you won’t.”She pulled her top back up. “If you were going to tell, you would’ve done it already.”“The only reason that I haven’t said anything is because Carleigh will be harmed. She cares for you and thinks you’re her friend and—”“I am her friend. We go way back.”I have no clue why I continued the conversation, but the nature of a woman has always amazed me.“Since you go way back, why would you try to fuck me? I mean, what if I did it? Then what? You would be content to share me with her, or is your intention to take me away from her?”“Why don’t you give me a serious dick-down and find out?”That did it. “I don’t have time for this.” I got up from my chair and headed for the door. She tried to grab my wrist. “You really need to find a different ambition in life. You and I will never happen.”“Never say never,” Jordan whispered as I opened the door and left.When I got back into the yard, everyone was up dancing to “Milkshake” by Kelis.“Damn, did you all catch a second wind blowing through here or something?” I asked, pushing up on Carleigh, who was doing a poor rendition of the chicken-noodle-soup dance.“Dance with me, baby,” Carleigh said, pulling me to her and giving me one of those wet, sloppy kisses that I so adored.Carleigh was drunk, and even though I didn’t drink, when she got toasted, it meant that she would be ready to fuck me until I was damn near comatose once everyone else left. I glanced over at Steve, who was now grinding up against Jordan. She looked bored to tears. I hadn’t even noticed her slither back outside.“Steve, didn’t you say you have an early day tomorrow?”Steve smirked at me; he knew what was up. “No, I can hang out all night, if you all want to. I have a spare suit in my car.”I wanted to smack him. “Well, we’re not partying all night.”I was about to walk over and cut off the iPod when Casper’s “Cha Cha Slide” came on next. That was all she wrote; they all started clapping, hopping, and stomping, doing the popular line dance.I have to admit that something about women doing a line dance is sensual, whether it’s a country-music one, the electric slide, the booty call, or anything else. Seeing all those hips moving at the same time can make a man’s dick hard; imagining those same hips propped up on his lap and working over his dick. It is amazing how so many women can shake their asses on a dance floor but freeze in place if you ask them to get on top during sex. I gave in to the moment, sat down on a deck chair, and watched them to see how low they could go.Everyone finally left around 2:00 a.m. Carleigh was drunk as she walked Jordan to her car. Jordan had implied that I should be a gentleman and see her out, but I smirked and walked in the opposite direction instead. By the time Jordan and Carleigh finished running their mouths in the driveway, I had taken a hot shower and climbed into bed. Carleigh came in the room and collapsed beside me on the bed. By that point, I was exhausted and prepared to fall asleep without sex, but she made her move within seconds.“Damon, I’m horny,” she whispered, flinging the comforter off me and reaching into my pajama bottoms to caress my dick. “I need some of that good good.”Carleigh always referred to our sex as “that good good,” implying that it was so hot that she had to double up on the compliments.“You can have all the good good you want,” I said, reaching over and pulling up her top, exposing her breasts. “Why don’t you go take a shower first?”“I’m too drained to take a shower. I want you to put me to sleep with that dick.”After being outside all day, I was appalled that Carleigh would climb onto clean sheets with a dirty body. I was even more appalled at the thought of making love that way. The only place funk belongs is in the bass line of a Parliament song. I was about to insist that Carleigh bathe first, but before I could go there, she was already devouring my dick with her mouth. She definitely got a rise out of me so I put her to sleep in that good good way. I refused to eat her pussy without her bathing, but I did slide my dick in and out of her until she moaned, her toes curled, and her eyes rolled up into the back of her head. Even though I was tired, it still took me damn near an hour to climax. I have never been able to cum quick, which could be a blessing and a curse. Women love that I am not a two-minute man, but sometimes a man wants to be able to bust a nut and fall asleep. That has never been the case with me. Carleigh got what she wanted and then dozed off. I lay beside her, glanced out the window, and thought about Jordan. Not in a sexual manner—never that—but I wondered that if Jordan was capable of fucking Carleigh’s husband, what else was she capable of? I really needed to tell my wife that her friend was not a friend at all, but, ultimately, it would have devastated Carleigh. No matter what, I couldn’t be the one to take the light out of her eyes. I loved her way too much for that.

BrookeJuly 4, 2007Springfield, VirginiaBrooke, you look great in that dress!” Mrs. Sterling, holding true to form, was passing out insincere compliments. “Where did you get it?”“I got it from a designer sale at T.J.Maxx,” I replied, intentionally irritating her by mentioning a discount store. “You can get some great deals there, if you look hard enough.”She gasped like I’d shot somebody. “Thank goodness Nicholas and I don’t have to worry about prices. I could never be seen in such a bargain-basement establishment.”“For most of the working class, designer clothing costs are too extravagant, so we have to do the best we can.”“The operative words are working class. That is a category that I have never fit in.”Mrs. Sterling always made it a point to jog the memory of anyone who would listen that she and her husband were affluent. Standing there on the ten-acre estate made it obvious enough. They lived by the shore and Mr. Sterling’s yacht was docked so all the guests could eyeball it.“How many people are you expecting today?” I asked, trying to change the subject before she started talking bank-account balances.“Oh, about fifty or sixty. It’s a small gathering.”“In my entire life, my parents never had fifty people over to our house.”“That’s because your parents reside in a shack compared to this house, dear.”That was a nice stab. I had to give it to her. The gloves came off.“My parents may not reside in the lap of luxury, but they’re extremely happy and don’t hide their dirty little secrets behind stock portfolios and security bonds.”She grimaced at me and I smirked.Nice one, Brooke, I thought as I walked away from her to find Patrick. I could feel her eyes throwing daggers at my back.Mrs. Sterling hated my guts. I was not of the “social material” that she felt was worthy of her son. The first time he brought me to their home for dinner, she wanted to know my “lineage.” I quickly informed her that my father was a plumber and my mother was a schoolteacher, that I was born and raised in Washington, D.C., and that I had an older brother in the navy. She wanted to know if I was “world-traveled.”I told her that the only time that I’d been out of the metropolitan area was on a field trip to New York City when I was a senior in high school. She looked like someone had shoved a full enema bottle up her crusty old ass and squeezed. Mr. Sterling was kinder to me. For several months afterward I actually thought that he approved of me and Patrick. Then Patrick got angry one night and burst that bubble, informing me that his father “thought I was a fine piece of ass but not wife material.” Patrick said that his father suggested that he should fuck me for no more than six months, then find a high-class socialite to show off on his arm.Even though Patrick agreed with them—that became painfully obvious—he still kept me around. When I was evicted from my studio apartment in Adams Morgan, he insisted that I move into his Capitol Hill penthouse. I was reluctant but caught up in feelings at that time, so I agreed. My parents were cramped up in their three-bedroom with doodads and miscellaneous crap they had collected during their nearly thirty years of marriage. Moving back with them seemed like taking a step backward in my life. My reality check was discovering that I’d taken five steps back by being with Patrick.Patrick was a prominent attorney and was even voted one of the hottest bachelors in the area by Washingtonian magazine. I thought he was the moon, the sun, and the stars when we met at the restaurant where I was waiting tables. Patrick had what we women call swagger, and he was articulate and convincing. He charmed my pants—and my drawers—right off of me, even though he had been on a date when we met. He slipped me his cell number when she excused herself to the ladies’ room to powder her nose. I actually overheard her say that shit: “I’ll be right back. I’m excusing myself to go powder my nose.” That was some uppity nonsense right there. Women go to the ladies’ room to piss and shit, hopefully wash their hands, and possibly take a quick glance in the mirror. The only nose powdering done is when they snort blow.I called Patrick the next morning. He picked me up in a black Bentley, took me to his place, and fucked me like I’d never been fucked before. I didn’t realize that my body could be so flexible. The man could write a manual on sex positions. Over time, he convinced me to do some things sexually, swallowing his semen and engaging in anal sex, that I would never have fathomed before then.He had only insisted that I do anal a few times, unsuccessfully trying to convince me that I would develop a love for it. A couple of my friends swore by it, claiming that anal sex gave them more intense orgasms than vaginal sex. I refused to cosign on any of it. My ass started hurting at the mere thought of it.As the party went on that Fourth of July, more and more people showed up to feast on the lobsters, shrimp, and oysters. The Sterlings had a live band perform with the lakefront in the background, and all their stuck-up friends looked ridiculous trying to dance. I wanted some ribs, chicken, and hot dogs with chili and coleslaw. No such luck. I wanted to hear some Jay-Z,Prince, and Mariah Carey. No such luck. I wanted a rum and Coke, but settled for a French Connection—Grand Marnier and Hennessy cognac.Patrick was holding court on the side among a bunch of young socialites who wanted to take my spot. Shit, I was hoping one of them would make him dump me. I know what you’re thinking. Why didn’t Brooke simply walk away? Like the saying goes, some things are easier said than done. I could have left Patrick, but there was no place better to go. I didn’t get involved with him because of his money. His wealth was an extension of his charm. I did love Patrick, but he didn’t appreciate my devotion. I believed that he loved me as well, but didn’t truly comprehend the definition of it. I was delusional enough to believe that he could, and would, change his ways for me . . . eventually.Patrick beckoned me to him as he moved away from all the designer-clad hoochies and over to the overpriced patio table where his parents were seated. It looked like something you would find in someone’s dining room instead of outside, but it was typical for them. I downed the rest of my drink, desperately needing another, and went to him.Mrs. Sterling was still determined to humiliate me, and now she had an audience. Two other couples were sitting with them. As I walked up, she said, “Here comes Patrick’s, um . . . play toy. Her name is Brooke.”I strained a smile and sat down next to Patrick. The people introduced themselves, and then, one lady, who had endured way too much plastic surgery and had been damn near botoxed to death, asked, “So, Brooke, are you a lawyer like Patrick?”Mrs. Sterling let out this hideous cackle, and Mr. Sterling gave her an evil glare. I think he had become torn between his personal outlook on me and the reality that his son had developed true feelings.“Actually, I’m in the food industry,” I replied uneasily.“Oh . . . ,” the woman said, playing with a string of luxurious pearls around her neck. “You’re a restaurateur. What’s the name of your establishment, and do you have more than one location?”“Ernestine, the girl is not on our level,” Mrs. Sterling said. “She’s a waitress—in a dump at that. She used to work in a nicer place, where Patrick picked her up along with his doggie bag, but she lost that job. She wasn’t quite up to their standards.”I pinched Patrick’s leg as hard as I could. He gave me a “You’re on your own” gaze and went back to drinking his top-shelf whiskey.“Are you really going to sit here and let your mother talk about me like that?” I asked bluntly. When he didn’t respond, I tried to get up, but he pulled me back down. I wrestled with him to get my wrist free. “Let me go. I’m ready to leave.”“Thank heaven,” his mother said.Mr. Sterling cleared his throat. “Brooke, I apologize for anything the missus might have said to offend you, but please stay and enjoy the fireworks. They’re set to begin in less than ten minutes.”My mouth flew open; then I gulped. “Anything she might have said to offend me? Are you for real?”Mrs. Sterling glared at me. “Look, dear, I was only speaking the truth. You had a halfway civilized job, even if it was still beneath anything my son had any business dealing with. You gained a bunch of weight and they got rid of you. And—”“You think I got fired because of my weight?” She didn’t reply but she and her friends shared comical glances.“The reason I gained so much weight is because your son has me stressed the fuck out!”“Brooke!” Patrick exclaimed. “Watch it!”“Oh, now you have a fucking tongue?” He finally let go of my wrist. I rose from the table. “All of you can kiss my monkey!”“Did she say ‘monkey’?” I heard the woman with the pearls ask.“Yeah, monkey, as in my pussy, my twat, my coochie!”The woman’s mouth flew open in shock as I turned my back on them.I stomped off in the direction of the front driveway, where cars were being valet-parked.I walked up to the three young men standing around in red jackets. “I don’t have the ticket but can you bring up Patrick Sterling’s Bentley?”“Sure thing,” one of them said, then took off running.“Where do you think you’re going?” Patrick asked, approaching me.“I’m getting the hell away from here.”He spotted his car pulling up. “Not in my car, you’re not. I can’t believe you told them to kiss your monkey.”I glared at him. “Patrick, I’m taking your car. You can either call the police and report it stolen or try to physically stop me in front of all these witnesses so I can file assault-and-battery charges.”The two young men standing there looked on while the third one was getting out of the driver’s side.Patrick shook his head. “I would never hit you, Brooke.”I shrugged. “At this point, I don’t know what you’re truly capable of. Until five minutes ago, I never thought that you’d sit there and let your mother talk shit about me in front of her friends. Granted, I realize she doesn’t like me and she takes potshots at me every chance she gets, but that’s in private. I can handle that, but she’s gone too far and you allowed it. You sat there and watched her humiliate me and did nothing.”Patrick’s eyes glassed over. “She’s my mother.”“And I’m your . . .” I paused. “I don’t know what the hell I am to you. Maybe you need to figure that shit out before you come home.”I went over to get in the car, tossing my purse on the passenger seat. “He’ll tip you,” I told the valet. “He has plenty of damn money.”“How am I supposed to get home?” Patrick asked.I snickered. “Patrick, you’re at your parents’ house. They have a dozen cars and a chauffeur. Give me a break.”I got settled in the car and floored it, having no clue where I was headed. I didn’t want to go home. I’d distanced myself from the majority of my friends and had no clue what they were doing for the Fourth. I decided to go see my parents. I sat there with them, on their balcony, watching the fireworks at the National Mall. Daddy had half a slab of ribs and two barbecued drumsticks left over. I gobbled them down with one of his Coronas. They were elated to see me and I them.“You can always come back home,” Mommy whispered to me later that night as I laid my head on her lap in my old bedroom.“I don’t know what’s wrong with him. I thought he loved me.”“He probably does love you, but he’s trying to satisfy everyone in his life, and no one’s ever accomplished that . . . not even Jesus himself.”Mommy always had a way to make sense out of things. She was right. Patrick was trying to please everyone, and it was stressing him out. In turn, he was taking his anxiety out on me. I was determined that we would smooth things out.“I’m going to make him happy, Mommy. No matter what it takes.”“Only if you’re happy, sweetheart. Don’t surrender your needs for someone else’s.”I fell asleep as she continued to play with my hair and sing softly to me. Patrick didn’t report his car stolen, but he blew up my cell phone a hundred times between midnight and noon the next day.My voice mail was full of messages from him pleading for me to call or come home. I had to work the three-to-eleven shift at the diner and decided to let him sweat. He was lying in wait when I pulled into the parking lot.I didn’t speak when I got out of his Bentley, determined to walk right past him. He was standing beside his father’s Porsche 911 and clinched me into his arms . . . into a loving embrace.“I’m sorry, baby. I had words with my mother.”“Had words? What does that mean?”“She promised that she’ll never do anything like that again.”I could feel his heart beating in his chest as he held me. I pulled away and gazed into his eyes. “Life is full of empty promises.”“Just give her a chance. Give me another chance.”“I’ll be home tonight. Wait up so we can talk.”He glanced at the dilapidated diner where I worked. “You know, you don’t have to work here. You don’t have to exert yourself at all. We can get married . . . tomorrow . . . even tonight, and—”I pressed my index finger to his lips. “We have way too many issues that need to be resolved before we can go there.”“And I’m prepared to resolve them.”He seemed genuine enough, but he always did after we had a blowup. After every time he called me out of my name and attacked my self-esteem, I kept telling myself that this time would be the last time, that he would see the light of day and somehow be the man that I needed.“I’ll see you later,” I said.We shared a brief kiss, then walked away from each other in silence.

Total Eclipse of the Heart by ZaneRelease Date: December 1, 2009
Order your copy at: http://www.amazon.com/Total-Eclipse-Heart-Zane/dp/0743499298/

Zane's Book Tour Schedule for Total Eclipse of the Heart

2009-11-30T15:19:00.001-05:00

December 1, 2009
4:00-6:00pm
B. DALTON -- Union Station
50 Massachusetts Ave NE
Washington, DC 20002

December 1, 2009
7:00pm
Borders
931 Capital Centre Blvd, #ALargo, MD 20774

December 2, 2009
6:00pm
Hue-Man Bookstore & Café
2319 Frederick Douglass Blvd
NYC, NY 10027

December 3, 2009
11:30-1:30pm
Borders Express -- Liberty Place
1625 Chestnut Street
Philadelphia, PA 19103

December 4, 2009
1:00-3:00pm
Ninth Street Book Shop
104 West 9th Street
Wilmington, DE 19801

December 4, 2009
7:00pm
Borders
101 Geoffrey Dr.
Newark, DE 19713

December 5, 2009
3:00pm
Books-A-Million
7000 Arundel Mills Circle
Hanover, MD 21076

December 6, 2009
3:00-5:00pm
Medu Book Shop -- Greenbriar Mall
2841 Greenbriar Parkway
Atlanta, GA 30331

December 7, 2009
7:00pm
Borders
8000 Mall ParkwayLithonia, GA 30038

December 11, 2009
7:00pm
Books-A-Million
8301 Concord Mills BlvdConcord, NC 28027

December 12, 2009
2:00pm
Books-A-Million
164 Forum Dr.Columbia, SC 29229

December 12, 2009
7:00pm
Books-A-Million
1945 W Palmetto St, #230Florence, SC 29501

Excerpt from The Last Prejudice by David Rivera, Jr.

2009-07-27T08:01:00.004-04:00

ZANE COMMENT

Hilarious, sexy, and entertaining. Three words that I use to describe The Last Prejudice by David Rivera, Jr. I often get emails from people craving for novels about plus-sized characters. Well, here is one hell of a novel about women who know how to celebrate life, who love with passion, and who no problems expressing their sexuality. I am positive that anyone who reads this book will love it. Please give it a shot. Blessings, Zane

BOOK DESCRIPTION

From the bestselling author of Playing in the Dark -- an erotic and romantic novel about how real love is measured by the size of your heart and not the size of your hips.

The three plus-sized women in The Last Prejudice find support in one another during the ups and downs of their juicy romances and chaotic lives. Noreen Klein is more than comfortable inside the smooth curves a size-24 frame enables. She's an empowered diva who gets what she wants -- including hot men. On the other hand, Dahlia Ortega is a beautiful woman who is extremely insecure with her thick body. Recently coming out of an abusive marriage, the docile Dahlia is left with a raging thirst for dominance. Kat Davis once had a perfect body, but now has to contend with the additional sixty pounds she put on during her tumultuous pregnancy. She wrestles with releasing herself from a self-imposed emotional prison, to embrace the love she deserves. Follow these three women as they fulfill their insatiable sexual appetites and overcome the disheartening emotional challenges that trouble many full-figured women.

Fresh, thoughtful, and endlessly provocative, The Last Prejudice proves how biases against voluptuous women don't exist when love and lust is in the air. Readers will be riveted by Rivera's fast-paced and passionate writing style -- a must-read for women of all sizes.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

David Rivera, Jr., is an investigator for the city of New York, and has a Master of Science degree from Metropolitan College. He lives in Harlem, New York.

SLIM PICKINS
CHAPTER THREE

The three women spent the first three days together at Hedonism. They danced every night, if not with each other, then with whichever gentleman asked them. After the first day at the resort, the men and women who were there to hook up did just that. Everyone else who was only there to have a good time weren’t disappointed either. During the morning, Noreen and Dahlia would meet Kat in her room and then they’d spend the day by the pool or at the spa. On the third day, Noreen made an announcement to Dahlia and Kat.

“I signed up for The Dating Game this afternoon.”

Every afternoon since they had arrived at Hedonism, Zane hosted a Dating Game contest by the biggest pool at the resort. All three women would look on and laugh at the contestants, enjoying the questions and responses from the three women or men who were brave enough to participate in the fun.

Neither Dahlia nor Kat seemed surprised by Noreen’s announcement.

“I knew you were going to do it,” Dahlia said.

“After you got up on the open mike last night and did your poem, “Big Juicy,” I knew you were going to do something else to prove that you’re as good as the skinny girls.“ Kat chuckled.

“And why shouldn’t I?” Noreen asked.

“The charcoal-black chick did her poem, ‘Midnight Love.’ All she was doing was advertising how much better extra dark punany is, than regular brown punany. Why can’t I put the word out, how good Big Juicy punany is? I know I got some good stuff and I’m not ashamed of it,” Noreen said, turning over onto her back on the reclined pool chair.

“Anyway, what does my poem and signing up for the Dating Game, have to do with anything?” she said, turning to her side and leaning on her elbow while she spoke.

“Nothing, except anytime you see some small woman getting something that you want, you go all out of your way to do something about it,” Dahlia said, remaining relaxed on her back.

“And what’s wrong with that? I’m proud to be a big beautiful woman and I’m not letting life shortchange me out of anything. You can keep trying to diet if you want, Dee, it’s not going to change who you are.”

Dahlia remained quiet. She was not ready to admit that Noreen was right, again. She stayed on her back and continued to look at the blue sky through her Versace sunglasses.

Noreen turned to Kat waiting to see if she had something to add.

“Why are you looking at me? You know how I feel. I’m going to diet and exercise until I get this weight off of my fat ass, and if that doesn’t work, I’m gonna get me another job until I can pay for some liposuction. Then maybe I’ll find a man that deserves this good pussy. It won’t be fat, it won’t be funky black, but it will be good.”

All three women laughed. They had already had this discussion the first day when they met. Kat and Dahlia had sided with each other on the issue of why big women settle for whatever man they can get. Noreen made the point that she was fat, happy and never settled for second best. She had even bragged that she could get any man whom she really wanted.

After three days of seeing Noreen manipulate and seduce all sorts of men, Kat was ready to believe her. Dahlia had seen Noreen in action and had never doubted her. All Dahlia knew was that she didn’t have that same power over men.

An hour later, Noreen was sitting behind a makeshift partition with two other women. They were definitely not as pretty as Noreen, but they were not big women. All three women wore bathing suits with a sarong wrapped around their waists. Noreen’s suit was the tightest. She had an incredibly flat stomach for such a large woman. Her hips flared out widely over the stool she sat on, and when she crossed her legs you could see more of her evenly brown thighs than the other two contestants. Noreen was bachelorette number three.

The bachelor was named Dennis. He was a thin, handsome, brown-skinned man. His face was clean-shaven if not for the pencil-thin mustache that outlined his upper lip. During the introduction of the contestants, Dahlia and Kat whispered and joked with each other how he would never be able to carry Noreen to bed.

“She will break that little man in two,” Kat said, giggling behind her hand.

There were approximately a hundred people by the poolside. This daily event had quickly become the entertainment of the day for the resort. Everyone stopped swimming and people stepped out of their rooms to enjoy the show. Noreen waved to her girls and they waved back, not wanting her to become suspicious of their little joke.

Noreen was not attracted to skinny men at all. She liked her men to be big and strapping. She liked feeling petite in a big man’s embrace or when lying underneath him in bed. She also liked the feeling of being “handled” in bed. You couldn’t be too big for her taste. If she knew it was a skinny man that she was competing for, she would have walked right off the makeshift stage. Her girls had promised her that if it was a skinny or ugly man, they would give her the high sign. She would then give bad answers so that there was no chance she would get stuck with a lemon—so much for friendship.

“Bachelorette Number One, if I were at a fruit stand and you were the fruit I was looking for, what fruit would you be?”

Dennis had a voice that was so deep and rich it made all the contestants’ eyebrows raise.

Bachelorette Number One sat up a little higher in her seat and then smoothed her sarong before answering.

“Honey, I would be two big melons,” Bachelorette Number One said, holding her two large breasts together for everyone else but the bachelor to see. The men who were watching clapped a little, but it was a very obvious answer.

“Bachelorette Number Two, same question.”

“Baby, for you, I would be a grapefruit, because although I could be called high yellow, I’m definitely pink and all juicy on the inside.”

More men clapped for that answer than the first, but the women were still not giving it up.

“Bachelorette Number Three, would you like to try your hand at that same question?”

Noreen smiled easily before opening her mouth.

“Dennis,” she said, letting his name linger in the air. None of the other contestants had said his name. You could tell he liked the way she said it, by the smile that came to his face.

“I couldn’t be anything other than a quince if you were looking for me.”

“A quince?”

“Yes, the quince was the fruit that Eve allegedly tempted Adam with in the Garden of Eden. The only difference is that biting me is not a sin. And if you bite me right, I’ll bite you right back.”

The crowd liked her response and both men and women gave her a loud clap. The game continued for about another thirty minutes. Noreen gave the cleverest and sexiest answers. If Dennis were to pick anyone else, he would be a fool. At the end of the question-and-answer session, Zane, the resort’s hostess, asked, “So Dennis, who will it be? Bachelorette Number One, Bachelorette Number Two, or Bachelorette Number Three?”

After Dennis picked Noreen, the other two women came out to meet him. He didn’t seem wholly disappointed that he didn’t pick the other contestants. He gave them both a perfunctory kiss on the cheek before they went on their way.

When Noreen came from behind the partition to meet Dennis, the crowd was momentarily hushed. It was as if now that they were standing next to each other, the crowd could finally see how they each opposed the other’s physical appearance.

For his part, Dennis smiled and held his arms out to welcome Noreen in a warm embrace.
Noreen’s response was not as warm. As she allowed herself to be hugged by Dennis, she looked over his shoulder at her two friends. They did not look back in her direction. Instead they acted as if they were in some very interesting conversation with one another. Noreen gave a dirty look in their direction and then pulled away from Dennis’s grasp.

Zane announced that their prize for participating in the game was a private lunch at the most exclusive restaurant at the resort. Everyone clapped their approval as the pool crowd started to dissipate. Now that Dennis and Noreen were left to be with each other without the benefit of a hundred onlookers, Dennis voiced his mind.

“Hmm, not too pleased with what’s behind door number one, huh?”

Noreen seemed shaken out of her thoughts by Dennis’s voice.

“Pardon me?”

“I must not be exactly what you expected.”

“I have to be honest with you, Dennis, and mind you, I never judge a book by its cover, but I’m not sure that we’re at all compatible.”

“Compatible? I see. Am I too short? Too skinny? Too lightskinned? Which one is it?” Dennis smiled good-naturedly.

“Yeah, that’s it.” Noreen made an awkward face.

“Whoa! All of the above, huh?”

Noreen shook her head yes, and folded her arms against her chest, uncomfortably shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

“No problem, I feel you,” Dennis said, raising his hands to chest level, as if to ward off a blow.

“But there is still the issue of a special lobster lunch. The all-inclusive buffet is alright, but I don’t eat lobster enough to just throw away this opportunity.”

Noreen wrinkled her nose as if she had just smelled something fishy, but then decided to put her own prejudice against thin men down for a second.

“You certainly make a good point… Dennis, right?”

Dennis smiled at her and nodded slowly, not wanting to scare Noreen away with too much enthusiasm.

“All right, Dennis, let’s do lunch.”

Dennis’s smile widened showing his perfectly white teeth and a pair of abnormally long canines for the first time. Noreen made a note of that slight oddity and tried not to stare.

“Great, if we go right now, we can be seated and enjoying lunch, and more of each other’s company in about fifteen minutes.”

Noreen wanted to go over to her friends and give them a piece of her mind, but let the thought go. She could feel them looking at her and Dennis from across the pool. They were probably laughing themselves silly with their little prank. She thought it would be better to let them think it didn’t faze her. Or if they knew better than that, then at least she could keep them in suspense over when she was going to give it to them good.

Dennis put his arm out for her to take a hold of and she grasped it, hesitating only slightly before looping her arm through his. Noreen held her head high and found her most regal and dignified gait. She heard her two friends laugh uproariously as she took a few more steps and she couldn’t help herself anymore. She turned around and shook her fist at them as Dennis continued to lead her out of the pool area. The women laughed harder. They knew they were in for it, but they were enjoying their moment of triumph.

DAMN BABY!
CHAPTER FOUR

This was going to be Noreen’s fourth date with Dennis. Kat and Dahlia were in the room with her as she prepared to go out for her last night at Hedonism.

“What the hell is it about this guy that’s so special again?” Kat asked.

“I told you before, I don’t know. He’s just different.” Noreen was irritated that she didn’t have a better explanation.

“I know what it is,” Dahlia offered. Both Noreen and Kat turned to her at the same time.

“It’s the fact that he hasn’t tried to do anything with you yet. You’re obsessed with the fact that he hasn’t tried to get into your panties by now—and here at Hedonism, no less. My girl couldn’t get laid in the only resort where anybody that wants to get laid, will get laid.”

“Please, that is so not true. We have kissed.”

“Listen to her. ‘We have kissed,’” Dahlia mocked Noreen.

“This from a woman that drags me all over New York checking out all of the hot spots for guaranteed love connections. If I thought you were getting any, I’d say you were dick whipped.”

“For your information, if I really wanted to, I would have already had him in my bed.”

“Uh-uh, not in this bed, you wouldn’t,” Dahlia said, bouncing heavily on Noreen’s disheveled bed.
“I am not sleeping out by the pool like you had me do when we were in Cancun. Hell no! Not this time!”

“I did not have you sleeping by the pool in Cancun.”

“Like hell you didn’t. You left the dance floor with that big doofy guy you met. Darren or Derrick or…”

“Darrell.”

“Darrell. That was his name. I get back to the room, by myself, and I hear all kinds of animal noises going on.”

Dahlia made her voice deep and gruff and added a Southern drawl for her imitation of Darrell. “Slow down, baby, slow down. Oh damn! I didn’t know it was going to be like that.”

All three women cracked up at Dahlia’s imitation.

“He wasn’t that bad. He was kind of cute,” Noreen tried to explain.

“Well, cute or not, I am not spending my last night out by the pool.”

“I’ll tell you what,” Kat said. “I’ve got the single room, so if any of us feels like we want to be alone with a guy, we’ll just use my room, okay.”

“Okay with me,” Noreen said.

“Of course it’s okay with you. I know I’m not sleeping with anybody I meet tonight.”

“Me neither,” Kat agreed.

“Well, I guess you can give me the keys now then,” Noreen suggested.

“’Cause tonight is definitely the night.”

“You don’t mind me bunking with you, do you, Dahlia?” Kat asked, as she handed the keys over to Noreen.

“As long as you don’t snore, I don’t mind.”

Kat gave her a sideways glance.

“You do snore, don’t you?” Dahlia accused her. Kat nodded matter-of-factly.

“Dammit, I can’t get a break.”

“Well, you grind your teeth,” Noreen said.

“I do not.” Dahlia was indignant.

“Please, you grind your teeth so much, I’m surprised you have any left.”

“I do?” Dahlia looked heartbroken.

“It’s no big deal, just another little Piccadilly for your great personality. We all have those little idiosyncrasies that make us special,” Noreen said with a honey-dipped voice.

Dahlia didn’t think it was so special. She didn’t need another flaw to make her feel even more inferior to everybody else.

When the girls reached the club, the party was in full swing. Everybody was letting it all hang out for the last day at the resort. Dennis met them at the door and he immediately swept Noreen out onto the dance floor.

It took Kat and Dahlia a drink and a trip to ladies room before they were asked to dance. The men who asked them were not the finest men in the place, but luckily or maybe because of the way they carried themselves, the men were no losers. Both men were handsome with average builds. They came over to Kat and Dahlia together as if it were planned. Like women they figured that there was safety in numbers and less likelihood of rejection. The girls were just glad that the men were not fat. They both hated when fat men thought that they were what big women were supposed to end up with.

After a few dances and just as many drinks, Noreen coaxed Dennis out to a secluded grove outside of the club. They kissed passionately, touching each other’s faces tenderly for several minutes before Noreen took him by the hand and tried to lead him toward Kat’s room.

“Where are we going?” he said, stopping abruptly before they went more than a few yards.

“To my room.” Noreen smiled devilishly.

Dennis looked up into the night sky as if trying to figure out the mystery of the heavens before he looked back into Noreen’s eyes.

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” he finally said.

Noreen blew out an exasperated breath.

“Are you gay?” she said in annoyance.

“What? Gay? No! I’m not gay. Whatever gave you an idea like that?”

“Whatever gave me an idea like that? You gave me an idea like that. I’ve done everything but smack you with it and you won’t even try to touch me below the waist.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m gay.”

“Well, what does it mean, Dennis, ’cause I’m all out of answers to that question.”

Dennis looked at Noreen closely, gauging what she might accept.

“I just don’t have sex that often, that’s all,” he finally said, looking at the ground.

Noreen had been holding her breath for a moment and when she heard his explanation, she let it out easily. She smiled, feeling better that he hadn’t said that he had some disease or that he had someone else back home.

“Is that all?” she responded, reaching out for him and squeezing him about the waist.

“You’re just a little shy because you don’t have sex often.”

“No, that’s not it.” He wriggled out of her grasp uncomfortably.

“Then what?” Noreen was once again annoyed.

“I’m not shy, Noreen.”

“You could have fooled me.”

“I just don’t want to hurt you, is all.”

“Hurt me? I thought you said you don’t have anyone else in your life.”

“I don’t.”

“Well, what is it? Are you embarrassed to be seen with me?”

“Don’t get crazy, we’ve been with each other all week, we look good together.”

Noreen had a different opinion on that subject, but did not bother to elaborate on her own feelings.

“Well?” Noreen said, waiting with her hands on her hips.

Dennis mumbled something under his breath that sounded like, I’m going to be sick.

“What? You’re going to be sick?” Noreen was suddenly more concerned.

Dennis shook his head.

“No, no.”

“Then what Dennis, what is it?”

“I’ve got a big dick,” he said, raising his eyes to meet hers.

Oh no the hell he didn’t. This motherfucker did not just say, ‘I’ve got a big dick.’

“You’ve got a what?”

“I’ve got a big dick.”

“I heard what you said. I just wanted to make sure my ears weren’t deceiving me. You’ve got a big dick. That’s what all the secrecy is about? That’s the reason you won’t touch me below the waist? That’s the reason you won’t go to my room with me? I have heard some lame-ass excuses before, but that has got to be the funniest shit I’ve heard yet.”

“Noreen, you don’t understand.”

“Oh I understand.” Another man with delusions of grandeur, she thought.

“No, I don’t think you understand. I put the last two women I was with in the hospital.”

“Uh-huh, I see.”

“No, you don’t see. I’m not kidding, I’m really big.”

Noreen stopped for a second and slowly allowed her gaze to go downward toward Dennis’s crotch for the first time. She tried to remember the pants that he had worn since she’d met him. He had been wearing long shorts, down to his knees, on the day they had met. During the evenings his pants had always been baggy. She assumed that he wore baggy pants because he was thin and wanted to give the illusion that he was bigger than he actually was.

“Let me see it.”

“What?”

“I said, let me see it.”

“Right here, right now?”

“Yeah, right here and right now.”

Dennis looked around the surrounding area and then shook his head no. “Not here,” he said. “Maybe if we go to your room ...”

“Okay, let’s go to my room.” Noreen thought this was turning out to be more trouble than it was worth. She had played this game with men before. That is, the game where men try to make you believe that they’re not really into you in a sexual way, so that you’ll be more intrigued and go after them more aggressively.

Noreen opened the door to Kat’s room. It was no different to the room that she and Dahlia shared, except that it had a king-sized bed in the middle of the room instead of the two double beds on opposite sides. The maid had cleaned the room so that everything was in its proper place. Generically speaking, this room could have belonged to anyone.

Noreen held the door open for Dennis, who appeared as if he were more than just a little reluctant. When he finally entered, Noreen quickly closed the door behind him.

“Okay, let’s see what you’ve got,” she said, choosing to bypass the formalities of foreplay. Having dated nothing but big men as an adult she had seen many big penises. It wasn’t true that all big men with big feet had big penises, but it was common enough that she’d seen her share of them. It could also be said that if a man had a big penis, it would be common for him to brag about it or at the least be very proud of it. Dennis was taking another path to show off how well he was endowed, but like any man, he was only trying to set a better stage for his display, Noreen thought.

“Before I show you, you have to promise me something.”

“What?” Noreen asked, now sure that he had set up this entire scenario for this promise that he was going to try to extricate from her.

“You have to promise that you’ll still see me, even after I show you.”

Noreen didn’t know what she expected, but she certainly hadn’t expected this.

“Okay.” She was trying to get on with it.

“No, you have to promise.”

He was really taking this thing too far, but Noreen went along.

“All right, all right, I promise.”

Dennis unbuckled his pants and unzipped his zipper. He proceeded to pull down his pants and Noreen almost started to laugh. He had on boxers that were at least four sizes too big for him. The elastic on the waist was so wide that he needed the help of a large safety pin. Dennis pushed his pants down to mid thigh and then wriggled his waist a little to make them fall around his ankle. Now Noreen couldn’t help but smile a little. Dennis looked ridiculous in his underwear. The diamond pattern reminded Noreen of her five-year-old nephew’s pajamas. They went so far past his knees they could almost be capris. Dennis looked embarrassed as he started to fiddle with the safety pin. He was having problems undoing it.

“Here, let me help you,” Noreen offered, taking a step toward him.

“I can do it.” Dennis turned around to keep Noreen from getting to his waist. Noreen waited impatiently for a moment and Dennis finally said, “There, I got it.”

Dennis turned back toward Noreen with the elastic of his underwear held up daintily between his right thumb and forefinger. Dennis looked Noreen in the eyes.

“Please, just don’t run.”

This guy’s got jokes, Noreen thought.

“Well…” She threw up her hands impatiently.

Without further ado, Dennis let go of the elastic. Noreen was looking at his groin area at the exact time that he let the underwear drop. She was definitely not prepared for what she saw.

“What the fu…?”

She couldn’t complete any of the words or the sentence that came to her mind as she took a step back out of a sudden fright. Dennis took a step forward.

“Don’t,” was all he was able to say as he tripped over the pants and underwear around his ankle. He caught himself against the dresser and righted himself quickly before he fell. Before Noreen could say anything else, Dennis picked his underwear up to his waist along with his pants. He didn’t bother trying to put the safety pin back on. Noreen watched him scramble to get himself together and fought with herself not to run out the door. She had seen some big penises in her life, but what she had just witnessed scared the shit out of her. She was as surprised as Dennis when she heard herself saying, “Wait. Don’t put it away.”

Noreen stepped in front of Dennis and put her hands over his as he tried to cinch his belt. Dennis didn’t struggle with her. He let his hands come away, accepting hers in their place. Noreen prided herself on facing and overcoming all of her fears. That’s why she always went hard, when anyone tried to keep her from the things that she desired. Noreen took a deep breath in an attempt to get over her initial anxiety at seeing Dennis’s monstrous member and then undid his pants again. When she let the pants waist go, the underwear slid down with them, exposing his huge organ to the brisk climate of the air conditioned room. Noreen thought she saw it twitch and slowly reached out to touch the cable-sized vein that traveled the length of it. Dennis flinched when she touched it and now she definitely knew it had twitched.

“My God, Dennis, how big is it?”

Noreen reached down with both hands and held it one hand over the other, trying to hold it like a baseball bat. Noreen knew she had big hands for a woman, she had held Dennis’s hands a few times and hers were larger. She wondered how he held it, as her own hands found it awkward to handle.

“It’s about sixteen inches long.”

“Sixteen inches long, flaccid?”

“Yes, but it doesn’t get much longer when it’s hard. Only about another two inches. The problem is, it gets thicker, a lot thicker.”

“It’s already as thick as my wrist.”

“Yeah,” was all Dennis could muster, as he felt himself starting to swell in Noreen’s hands. She stared into her hands mesmerized by how hard the penis was becoming. The head had swelled to the size of a Granny Smith apple, and started to leak clear fluid. Noreen couldn’t help herself. She wanted to know just how big this monster could get.

“Please don’t, I don’t know if I can stop.”

“Sshhh, just close your eyes, baby. You don’t have to stop. I’m going to take good care of you.”
Noreen’s voice was hypnotic and Dennis slowly closed his eyes. Noreen stroked, pulled and tugged on the enormous appendage as best she could and was starting to become afraid that it would never stop growing. Her fascination overwhelmed her fear and she continued with her mission. Her awkward strokes were causing larger amounts of pre-seminal fluids to leak from Dennis, and she used that to lubricate the head. She allowed her palm to cover the two-inch-long slit in the crown, again and again, coming away with moisture to soak the shaft. It wasn’t going to be nearly enough to cover its entirety, but from the look of ecstasy on his face, Dennis wasn’t going to last much longer anyway.

The look on Dennis’s face made Noreen feel good. She prided herself on being able to satisfy any man, and this would be her masterpiece, her pièce de résistance, as it were. Noreen had the urge to let her head go down and lick some of the pre-cum from the crown, but remembered that she had never spoken to Dennis regarding his health status. Damn, I want to lick it so bad. Noreen threw caution to the wind and started to bend her head toward the dick head anyway. Ah shit, but she was too late. Dennis was already cumming. Rope after rope of sperm arced out of the thick spongy head. Noreen put both hands around the crown and continued to massage. She was trying to get the last vestiges of cum out of him. Dennis was shaking from head to toe, and it was making Noreen hot to watch. It wasn’t going to be enough for her to just lick. Now she wanted to feel that monster inside her. Dennis opened his eyes. They were wild with fulfilled lust. Noreen pushed him and he allowed himself to land easily onto the king-sized bed.

“I’ll be right back,” she said. Dennis couldn’t get to his feet fast enough to stop her. Instead, he called out to her as she reached the door.

“Where are you going?”

“I have to get a condom.”

“No, condoms don’t fit me,” he called out.

Dennis knew she had heard him, but she never slowed down. Two minutes later, she opened the door and slammed it shut behind her. Dennis was still in the same position sprawled on the bed. He hadn’t bothered to try to put his penis away.

Before tonight he hadn’t had sex in more than six months. His penis was still hard and there was no way it was going to fit back into his pants.

“What’s that?”

Noreen put a small plastic package to her teeth and ripped it open.

“It’s a female condom,” Noreen answered. She was already on her knees in front of him trying to fit it over the head.

“It’s supposed to go inside of the woman,” she said, grunting to stretch the rubber over the head, “but in your case, I think it might just work this way.” It took her a minute, but she was finally able to get the rubber sheath over the head and halfway down the shaft of his penis. That would have to suffice.

Dennis looked up at Noreen as she shimmied quickly out of her panties. He watched as her big beautiful ass rippled with its own weight. She pulled her dress over her head and he was surprised by the size of her breasts. He hadn’t thought they would be as large as he now saw.

“My God, you’re beautiful,” he said.

“Not too big?”

Noreen was fishing for compliments; she loved hearing the voice of a man that truly adored her. She knew Dennis was attracted to big women from the start.

Before he could answer she was up on the bed with both feet flat on either side of his hips. She already had the blunt head of his dick at the entrance to her wet vagina. He didn’t want to spoil it and just shook his head no.

Noreen gritted her teeth and let her knees give way. Lights exploded in her head.

When the girls picked her up from the resort clinic the next morning, she had an ice pack between her legs.

Their plane was leaving at one o’clock in the afternoon. They had to leave the resort by eleven thirty. It was only eight, so they decided to have breakfast before starting to pack.

During breakfast Noreen explained to them what had happened. She and Dennis had tried to have sex all night long, in vain. The head would just not fit into her small vagina. At one point they had gotten a fraction of it into her, and she had just rubbed herself back and forth until she came. Dennis had been a gentleman the whole night. He let her try over and over again, all the while content to just nibble on her breasts and kiss her clit. She had cum a second time while banging the head continuously into the opening of her already raw pussy. Her orgasm was so strong that she lost consciousness. When she awoke in the morning, Dennis was gone and she was so swollen that she went straight to the resort clinic. The resort doctor had a suite that was connected to his office and saw her right away. Apparently this sort of morning visit was common. It was after she was treated that Noreen called the girls.

Dahlia and Kat didn’t laugh at Noreen openly. They waited until she was in the shower, then they cracked up. Noreen heard them as she soaped and took her time rinsing to give them time to get it out of their systems.

At the airport, Dennis found Noreen and apologized for leaving the room without saying good-bye. He explained that he had gone to his room to shower and change clothes and when he returned to the room she was no longer there.

“I was worried about you, No. Where did you go?”

Noreen’s family and very close friends were the only ones that shortened her name like that. She sort of liked the easy way that Dennis did it, too. Noreen forgave him and they made plans to see each other in the States. Dennis lived in New Jersey and worked in Manhattan. Noreen liked him enough to continue to see him. She had already thought he was a special man; after last night she knew just how special.

On the plane Dahlia graciously switched seats with Dennis so that he could sit with Noreen. It was a relief. Those seats weren’t made for two voluptuous women to sit together.

Dahlia was enjoying her second plane meal. The cute man sitting next to her didn’t want his. He watched as she finished off the meal, then the dessert. She tried to start a conversation with him after she finished, but he seemed to want to doze. She stopped trying and closed her eyes and went to sleep.

Kat was in first class alone. She thought about her son and how she missed him. Her mother and he would be picking her up at the airport. She hadn’t gotten laid at the resort, but it didn’t bother her. She had made two good friends.

If you enjoyed this excerpt, please purchase a copy of The Last Prejudice by David Rivera, Jr. at your local bookstore or purchase it online at: http://www.amazon.com/Last-Prejudice-Zane-Presents/dp/1593092350/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1248702843&sr=1-1

Will I Ever Find Love

2009-07-27T01:06:00.000-04:00

Dear Zane,

I must tell you that I am one of your biggest fans, I love that you have brought Sex Chronicles to life on Cinemax. I think as a black author of erotica, you have made great strides in the African American community. I love reading your novels and I love how you like no one else brings to life the fantasies that many people have but are afraid to express.

I have this dilemma with a guy I thought I was in love with. He was a guy I met through a friend, and I must say since he was in the military he was gone a lot. I have only seen him once........but since we initially met we kept in touch through writing, emailing, texting, etc. It’s crazy I know but we actually fell for each other or maybe it was just all in my head, but he was never honest, I found out things about him through my friend, and you know it seems like typical male behavior to lie and turn everything into your fault. I have dated other guys since then, but I feel like I can't get over him for some reason. He seems to always be in the picture somehow, but how do I rid myself of him emotionally, so that I can move on? I ask myself so many times, too, as well because I'm still a virgin, and I wonder to myself, will I ever find love, to know what it is like to be loved by someone honestly and truly, and it be reciprocated back??

Signed,
Will I Ever Find Love

Dear Will I Ever Find Love,

Yes, you will find it, but first you must define it. Some women define love as great sex, even if the man is disrespectful, a cheater, and lazy. Some women define love as being taken care of with diamonds and fancy cars. Some women define love as a mutual respect, compassion, and an open line of communication.

You are young and please do not allow one bad apple to spoil the bunch. All of us find ourselves wondering if love is just a myth, something outside of our grasp. The key is to take your time and find the right companion. God does not place people in our lives when we ask for them but when they are supposed to be there. Keep an open mind and explore the possibilities but I am proud of you for recognizing the distrust in this young man. It takes some women well into their forties or fifties to wake up.

Blessings,
Zane

Do You Really Even Have To Ask?

2009-07-27T01:05:00.000-04:00

Dear Zane,

I have a question (or 2) to ask:Is it possible for a guy to have a girlfriend that he doesn't like? Is it possible for him to claim that "she won't let me break up with her"? Why would a guy stay with a girl just to avoid hurting her or having her go off if he broke up with her? I realize that some women are crazy and can't accept rejection, but how does a REAL MAN handle something like that? I ask b/c I like (or used to like) a guy that I thought was single when we hooked up. But after seeing some things I kind of figured that he was attached to someone else. He didn't actually discuss any of this with me, but his friend claims that this might be the case for him. Can you tell me how that is?

Signed,
Is It Possible?

Dear Is It Possible,

You are being fed a bunch of bullshit by this man’s friend; probably at his direction. He has a woman, always had a woman, and attempted to make you his jump off. You would be a fool to even contemplate getting involved with him. No one can force someone to be in a relationship; especially a man. It is not like the woman is going to give him a beat down or anything. I seriously doubt that. Leave him to her and find someone who does not play silly games.

Blessings,
Zane

Loving Alone

2009-07-27T01:00:00.000-04:00

Dear Zane,

I have been in a relationship for a little over a year now and me and my significant other have not had sex yet. This is a problem for me because before I met him, I was having sex every other day but since I love him, it hasn’t been like a determining factor in our relationship. I recently went out the country on a trip to Turkey and my trip lasted through our anniversary but when I got back, it wasn’t even like he cared. I was very upset by this but I took the whole stance of charge it to the game; he's a dude. But lately it’s like we've gotten more distant and that is a major problem because I hate feeling like I’m the only one in a relationship; he says I need to quit nagging him but it seems like he's distancing himself from me because of his past relationships with women, including his mother. How do I break the shell that he has over his heart without "nagging" him? And is it even worth trying to do or should I just move on? School is starting and I have no time for undue stress.

Please Help Me.

Signed,
Loving Alone

Dear Loving Alone,

After reading your email, I am trying to figure out the true purpose of your relationship. Not to say that sex is, or even should be everything but if you are a sexually active young lady, why should you be deprived? If he is withholding sex for religious reasons, you must decide if you agree with that. If it is something else, it would give me pause for concern.

Follow your gut instincts. Since it felt different once you got back, something may have occurred while you were overseas. I would concentrate on school and leave him alone. He is not willing to open up and he is calling you a nagger. Let him see how it feels when he has no one to nag him at all.

Blessings,
Zane

Getting Really Fed Up

2009-07-27T00:56:00.000-04:00

Dear Zane,

I love your books and I hope that you keep up the good work. My problem is that I have a “husband” baby daddy. I have been with him for about four years. I have had problems with him in the past—ex-girlfriend problems. The other day, she hit him up and he did not realize that I saw it. I told him about it and he does not want anything to do with her. I believe him because she has been hitting him up by email and AIM. He blocked her completely from everything. She is getting me to the point that I am going to throw one of my Reebox and show her who I am. I am trying to better myself; she is making me go back to the same old me. Should I just leave it alone and block her, or should I take action and bust her down? Not to mention that she is married and has a family of her own but she is still trying to “hold a friendship.”

Signed,
Getting Really Fed Up

Dear Getting Really Fed Up,

If I had a dollar for every one of these emails that I receive, I would be rolling in dough. Darling, your problem is not with the other woman. She is not living with you, she has not been in a committed relationship with you for four years, and she did not father your child. Your man is the problem. If he does not want anything to do with her, he would not have anything to do with her. You are saying that he has blocked her completely from everything, so I am confused. If he blocked her, then how is she contacting him? If she cannot contact him, then what is the problem?

You definitely do not need to “bust her down.” Again, she owes you ZERO respect or consideration. Trust me, it is easy as hell to get someone completely out of your life; whether they want to leave or not. I have done it many, many times. After four years, that woman should not even know how to contact him. How long has he had his AIM I.D.? Email address? Did he accept her as a friend on MySpace? See my point. Deal with him and not her.

Blessings,
Zane

I Know That I Am Eighteen But I Don't Know If I Am A Lesbian

2009-07-27T00:54:00.000-04:00

Dear Zane,

I have never done this before, but I guess that it never hurts to try. I am kind of confused about my sexuality. I have always to guys, but now it seems that I am craving for a female. I am only eighteen and I have always been kind of attracted to women but never faced up to it. I do not want to believe the truth myself. I first realized that I like females when I was fifteen. I am not a lesbian—well, I do not think I am—nor do I think that I am straight. I am sexually confused. The crazy thing about this situation is that I have never been with a female or even done anything sexual with a female. Now that I am older, I cannot help but wonder what it would be like to be with a woman. I think that I am now more attracted to girls than I am to guys. My question is should I explore my sexuality with a woman or should I just stay with my heterosexual way?

Sincerely,
Sexually Confused

Dear Sexually Confused,

Just because you have never been with a female does not mean that you do not want to experience it. After all, didn’t you start fantasizing about being with men before you actually did it? That is how most people start having sex in the first place, no matter what their sexual preference. They begin to crave it, yearn for it, wonder about it, and then act on it. With that being said, here is my response to you. You are only eighteen and you have your entire life in front of you to figure things out. Finding other women attractive does not define your sexuality, and you do sound very confused.

You should just live your life naturally and not rush into anything. Sexual experiences should come very naturally and should never be forced. Take your time and your emotions will speak the ultimate truth.

Blessings,
Zane

Every Day Is Truly a Gift-Rest in Peace, E. Lynn

2009-07-25T00:36:00.000-04:00

I have sat around the majority of this evening trying to find the words to express my sentiments regarding the homegoing of one of the greatest voices in literature—not African-American literature but literature period. I spent a few hours answering advice emails, played with a strange puppy that wandered onto my doorstep, joked around with my children, and even played online Spades; all the while trying to think of what I wanted to say—or if I should even say anything at all. Then I decided that I had to say something and I had to do it before I went to sleep tonight.

I was on a business call around one o’clock today when I read a message on Facebook from a young lady informing me that E. Lynn had passed. Stunned does not quite capture my initial thought. Death is never easy but it seems almost implausible when someone is as full of energy, determination, and talent as he was. A true visionary, E. Lynn’s voice will be legendary and he opened the door for many others to walk through.

When I read his autobiography years ago, What Becomes of the Brokenhearted, I could not help but to admire the courage that it must have taken to not only write down everything that he had endured, but to allow the world to share in his plight. He was able to accomplish so much, despite everything that he had overcome. I know that feeling well but do not think that I could ever open up my life like that to the world. It would be much too painful for me, but E. Lynn did it with grace and dignity, realizing that by exposing his trials and tribulations, it could and would help others. E. Lynn was always willing to assist in any way that he could. Last year, I asked if he would travel to Dallas to do an event at the Black Academy of Arts and Letters. He immediately accepted, even though his assistant would have to drive him there and even though the stipend offered would not even cover his expenses. Like me, he realized that there was a much deeper purpose to our presence there and it was a wonderful weekend for a worthy cause.

I saw his book on the new releases shelf in a bookstore last week and I was so happy for him to have “birthed another baby.” That is what books are for authors who are passionate about their work. Books are like our children that we have to eventually cut the umbilical cord on and send out into the world alone. I cannot help but wonder, had not God called him home, how many more children he would have realized.

After I heard about his death, I had to leave home to attend my daughter’s hip hop dance recital. My thoughts on the way to her summer camp were that it was such a shame that he would not get to see his work on the big screen. I realized that it meant so much to him; we had numerous conversations about it. Hollywood has a tendency to option our books and then go out and commission screenplays that could never truly represent us like novels. Novels have intense storylines, flushed out characters, and are beloved by avid readers; three elements that “written-for-the-screen” movies tend to lack. Later on, I read an article that stated that he was in California to discuss movie deals. I can only imagine his excitement that maybe, just maybe, after so many years someone was going to finally “get the point.”

I will not go on and on; you all know how long-winded I can be. However, I want to stress a few things that all of us should take away from the life (and death) of such a wonderful spirit. Every day is truly a gift. I do not say that on a constant basis simply to say it. It means something to me. I even have a plaque in my office that states it. Every day is a gift that must be embraced because that day will never come our way again. Life is too short for pettiness and drama. As I walked through the Harlem Book Festival last weekend, and many people who used to talk down to me, or about me, came up to me and embraced me or spoke to me, someone asked me how I could be so kind to those who had tried to destroy me. My response was that I do not carry things like that in my heart. Only I truly understand my journey and what is for me will be for me. Just like what was for E. Lynn was for him, and no one could take that away, or distract him from his path. So for those of you who loved him, I am sure he loved you back. For those of you who criticized him, I seriously doubt that he took it personally. His talent could not be disputed and his voice could not be silenced, for as long as we had him in our presence.

I hope and pray that E. Lynn will continue to do God’s work and that his death will serve as motivation for the tens of thousands of people who aspire to be published writers, or those who wish to realize any other dream. It is important to thank God not only for all of the things that He has given us, but also for all of the things that He has taken away. For without failure and a great deal of loss, one can never truly be inspired. I will miss you, E. Lynn, as an author, as a humanitarian, and as a friend.

Blessings,
Zane

Calling All Single Moms

2009-07-24T08:41:00.000-04:00

Calling all single moms!!! If you're a single mother and you're raising a son, then I have some exciting information to share with you. Jamie Foster Brown of Sister 2 Sister Magazine has developed an awesome program that YOU and your sons can benefit from!!

You don't want to miss this!! This is for those who live in the Baltimore, Virginia, DC, Maryland area.

Welcome! Come! $35 a session. If you're interested, please email your name, address, phone number to Kia Hopings at Irmfamilyempowerment@yahoo.com and you will be notified of the date, time, location and payment options. Space is limited.

Excerpt of Obsessed by Delilah Devlin

2009-07-23T10:02:00.003-04:00

Excerpt from Obsessed: An Invitation Erotic Odyssey by Delilah Devlin

ZANE COMMENT
Auctioned is part of the Invitation Erotic Odyssey Series along with Disciplined by Allison Hobbs and Auctioned by Kimberly Kaye Terry. They are part of the Strebor Quickies line, economically priced at $9.95 per copy but with enough action, romance, and sex for books that cost twice as much. I hope that you will check it out. Blessings, Zane

Book Description
On an uncharacteristic whim, an obsessive-compulsive woman vacations at an island resort where she learns how to surrender to her disorderly, capricious, and wanton inner self.
Briana's pristine life has recently gone downhill after she realized her perfect marriage was a sham. Weighed down by the burdens of her impending divorce and the shame of being a "starter wife," the hysterically out-of-control Briana calls the number printed on a postcard for a limited-time offer at a distant lodge. Upon arriving at the sex vacation resort, Briana is confronted with all of her old hang-ups and throws herself into the pleasures of exhibitionism -- freeing herself from her heartbreaking past and the inhibitions that have always held her back in life.

About the Author
Delilah Devlin dated a Samoan, a Venezuelan, a Turk, a Cuban, and was engaged to a Greek before marrying her Irishman. She's lived in Saudi Arabia, Germany, and Ireland, but calls Texas home for now. Ever a risk taker, she lived in the Saudi Peninsula during the Gulf War, thwarted an attempted abduction by white slave traders, and survived her children's juvenile delinquency. Creating alter egos for herself in the pages of her books enables her to live new adventures. Since discovering the sinful pleasure of erotica, she writes to satisfy her need for variety--it keeps her from running away with the Indian working in the cubicle beside her!

Chapter One

Chuff-chuff-chuff.

Briana Neeson paused, switched the wand to her left hand, and then continued scrubbing. Never mind, the white bowl gleamed. Or that the pipe cleaners she’d shoved into the jets had come out without any flakes of sediment. She’d never get the damn toilet clean again.

The bitch had sat her fat ass on the seat after screwing her husband blind.

Briana allowed herself to think the coarse words, although she’d never have said them aloud. Not even when she’d walked into her bedroom with her arms full of packages from the Galleria Dallas mall, only to drop them when she realized the sounds she’d heard while climbing up the stairs hadn’t come from the television. The low, keening moans had been the woman’s. The sharp grunts her husband’s.

Shocked, she’d realized she hadn’t recognized his sounds because he never made them when he pumped away atop her body. He’d sounded agonized.

Probably strained something, he pounded the woman’s quivering butt so hard.

He’d turned when she dropped the packages, his dark, half-lidded gaze meeting hers, but he hadn’t missed a stroke. His hand reached for the woman’s long, blonde hair that stuck to her sweaty shoulders and wrapped around it, pulling it hard to force her back into an arch and her face toward the headboard, and kept right on pumping, until at last, his lips pulled away from his gritted teeth and he came.

Briana had stood frozen, her breaths coming in short, choppy pants and her body trembling. Part of her hadn’t believed he’d done this in their bed. The other, knew it was her own damn fault.
After all, Jonathan had warned her.

Chuff-chuff-chuff.

Her hand slipped, and her chest hit the porcelain. An anesthetizing chill struck a nipple. Without realizing it, her robe had fallen open as she labored. She stroked the wand deep into the bowl and leaned toward it, purposely hitting her nipple again.

The cold caused it to contract, spiking the tip, and she discovered the sensation wasn’t unpleasant. But the other nipple wasn’t equally aroused. Equally…chilled.

Pulling open the opposite side of her robe, she switched the wand again, eased her knees apart for balance on the hard tile floor, and let her forward motions slam her other breast into the toilet.

Then stroking the bowl with the bristled brush, she arched her back, just like the skanky blonde her husband had screwed, and bit her lip to hold back the sounds as her arousal built.

With her nipples tightening, elongating, a rush of liquid seeped from her pussy, encouraged by the soft rasp of the terrycloth robe settling between her buttocks, draping lower to gently abrade her open sex.

She’d have to wash the robe, but not just yet. The sensations were too pleasurable. With the smell of the disinfectant swirling in the bowl, she blinked, and tears spilled down her cheeks to mingle with the soapy water.

Chuff-chuff-chuff.

Soon enough, the sensations didn’t satisfy. Rising on wobbly legs, she ran scalding water from the shower’s long, flexible shower head over the toilet brush, followed by a rinse of bleach to disinfect, and then sat the brush in its holder beside the toilet. She dropped her robe into the hamper, stepped over the edge of her pristine tub, and turned on the faucets, setting the temperature as hot as she could take it.

She squirted a quarter-sized dollop of liquid soap on the back brush and counted the strokes with her left hand, then the right. Another dollop on a loofah, and she scoured her left arm, then the right. Rinsing clean, she did the same for her left leg, then her right. Then at last, she placed a foot on the rim of the tub and scoured her pussy—to remove the traces of her own arousal, but lingering long enough, rubbing hard enough, that at last her body bowed.

Briana’s orgasm wasn’t loud or dirty, and she didn’t come with sweat and smell, or even sound. Still, she couldn’t help feeling just a little envious of the woman who’d scrambled into the bathroom with streaks of her husband’s ejaculate striping her fleshy buttocks and thighs.

She may have been a sleazy skank, but she’d accomplished something Briana never had in seven years of marriage. The whore had made her husband tremble.

Standing in the shower with the scalding water running down her body, Briana faced the fact that she’d failed.

While Jonathan had been appreciative of her organizational skills early in their marriage, later he’d begged her to loosen up a bit at home. Leave the laundry for a day inside the hamper, let him rest his feet on the furniture…and don’t rush to shower after they made love.

She heard muffled footsteps coming from the bedroom. Hours had passed since Jonathan had thrown on his clothing and herded the other woman out the front door. Briana had watched them through the kitchen window as he held the car door open for the woman, sharing a look with her that seemed filled with an easy, sensual satisfaction.

Then his gaze had risen to the window where Briana stood, and his expression changed instantly, shuttering her out. His jaw tightening, he’d walked around the car and slid inside, backing out of their driveway without hesitation and spinning his wheels in the pea-sized gravel Briana had raked to perfection the day before.

He hadn’t called. Hadn’t answered any of the dozen messages she’d left as she hurried around the bedroom and bathroom, nose wrinkled, donning plastic gloves to strip away soiled sheets and tossing the woman’s underwear into a plastic bag that she carried immediately to the outdoor bin.

With her heart tripping in her chest, she hurried to wrap a towel around her body, and then glanced into the mirror. She paused to run a comb through her damp hair before easing open the bathroom door.

A suitcase lay on the bare mattress.

Briana hesitated at the door and scanned the room.

Jonathan stepped out of his walk-in closet carrying an armload of his clothes. Upon spotting her, he strode quickly forward and dumped the clothes into the case.

“What are you doing?” she asked and then inwardly winced at how ridiculous that sounded. Of course, he was leaving. Didn’t everyone leave her?

Dressed in khaki trousers and an open-necked, long-sleeved shirt, she noted the crease on the edge of his collar and bit her tongue to hold back the urge to tell him about it. He didn’t look in the mood to listen to her fuss.

His expression was hard and cold. The set of his square jaw a clue he wasn’t in the mood to talk. He’d made up his mind.

“I’ll try harder,” she whispered, her hand clutching the edge of her towel. She needed something to squeeze because her heart felt ready to explode.

He gathered up the clothes spilling over the sides of the case, not bothering to fold them, and looked over his shoulder, spearing her with a hot glare. “You don’t get it, Bri. You drive me crazy. You couldn’t wait to tear the sheets off the bed, could you?”

“Why wouldn’t I? Her scent was all over them.”

His upper lip curved into a snarl. “But the wet spot bothered you most, didn’t it?”
It had. The longer she’d stared at it, the bigger and yellower it grew. “We can talk about this,” she said in a rush. “You don’t have to go.”

Jonathan snorted. “I’ve talked until I don’t have a thing left to say to you. I don’t love you, baby. Haven’t for a long time.”

The words hurt, but he couldn’t leave. She just needed one more chance to prove she could change. “But you need me. You told me that.”

He turned his head away and zipped the case shut. “I can afford an assistant to take over the scheduling. I can afford an anal bitch I don’t have to sleep with.”

“I’ll see a therapist.”

A deep breath expanded his well-muscled chest. “Do what you need to do to get well, but it’s not going to make a difference for us.” He picked the case off the bed and sat it upright on the floor, before sending her another glare that cut right through her. “I’m through.”

He meant it this time. She could tell by the way his jaw firmed. His gaze held no emotion. “Are you going to her?”

“Carrie?” He shrugged. “She’s just a girl who was willing.”

He hadn’t even cared about the bitch he fucked in her bed. “Why did you bring her here?”

Jonathan lifted a hand and raked it through his neatly cut brown hair. “I didn’t know how else to tell you. I’ve used words, but you talked right over me, never once acknowledging you understood. I’ve made appointments with therapists and marriage counselors, but you found one excuse after another not to go. You weren’t willing to change.”

“I don’t need them. We don’t need them. I’ll just try harder.”

“Fuck, Bri,” he bit out. “Try any goddamn harder, and I swear I’ll cut my own throat.” He turned away, hefted the large case easily, and strode toward the door. Without looking back, he paused. “My attorney will be in touch.”

Chapter Two

“I can’t believe that asshole.”

Briana sighed and settled deeper into the armchair as her best friend Heather opened the topic of conversation.

Heather had made it so easy, calling her and cutting through Briana’s soft hello with a sympathetic, “I just heard,” before Briana could think of the words to tell her Jonathan had walked out.

After she stifled her brief disappointment that it wasn’t her husband calling, Briana didn’t bother asking how Heather had learned about her humiliation. The subdivision’s grapevine had likely issued an all-points bulletin the moment Jonathan and his slut drove through the security gate.

“So, what are you going to do?” Heather asked, sympathy softening her tone.

“What can I do?” Briana muttered. She’d rearranged furniture and moved some of her clothing from her closet to his to even them out. Beyond that, she wasn’t sure what else to do. She was still too stunned.

Her life was about to change, and change unnerved her. Made her feel uncomfortable in her clothing, made it impossible to sleep. Set her mind racing through her long to-do list of chores she should put off until they were due, but wouldn’t because she had to stay busy.

“Do you have a lawyer?”

“I’ll put that on my list.” Why hadn’t she thought of that? Did she secretly still hope Jonathan would walk back through the door and say he’d changed his mind?

Heather groaned. “Tell me that you at least changed the locks.”

Changed the locks? “Why would I do that?”

“Bri, do you want some slut sittin’ on your sofa, watchin’ your TV?”

Briana shook her head, knowing she wasn’t following Heather’s train of thought. Her concentration was shot from too little sleep the night before and too much stress. “Do you think he’d bring her back here, again?”

“I swear, sometimes you’re clueless,” Heather said, her exasperation deepening her Texas twang. “I’m talkin’ about him cleanin’ you out. Takin’ all your things when you leave the house.”

“Jonathan’s not like that.” He wasn’t cruel. He wouldn’t even move a coffee table without asking first—a thing he’d learned in their first week of marriage could set her teeth on edge.
Still, he’d fucked another woman in their bed, knowing she’d be home at any time.

“He’s a man. He’s probably listing all your household possessions right now and figurin’ out where the split should be. And it won’t be down the middle.”

Briana wondered how much Heather’s two divorces colored her perspective. “He’s the one who left. He abandoned me and the house.”

“He’s just gettin’ away to think. And talk to the boys. They’ll have all kinds of advice to give him about how to screw you good and proper.”

Or maybe he would change his mind once he figured out he still needed her.

“Are you thinkin’ he’s gonna come back, sweetie?”

Was she really so predictable? “He left in such a rush. Maybe he’s had time to—”

“What did he say when he left?”

How could she tell her? Heather was her friend, her closest one, but Briana had never let her know things weren’t perfect between her and Jonathan. His hurtful words still raised bile in the back of her throat.

“He said I drive him crazy,” she blurted before she had time to think about it. There was a long pause, and Briana cringed inside, wishing she’d never told her. “Did he have a reason to say that?”

“You know I love you, right?”

The hesitant way Heather said it had Briana shaking her head, wishing she could make an excuse and just hang up the phone. She knew she didn’t want to hear what blunt bomb her friend was preparing to drop.

But hanging up wouldn’t be polite.

“Honey, sometimes, you drive me a little crazy, too.”

Briana shifted uneasily in her chair, bent her head to hold the phone against her shoulder, and reached both hands for the fruit-decorated coasters stacked on the side table. “I know I’m a little obsessive…”

“A little? Obsessive Compulsive Disorder can be just as challenging for friends and family as it is for the person who suffers from it.”

“I’ve never been diagnosed.”

“You won’t go to a therapist to get the diagnosis, but I don’t know anyone who alphabetizes their canned goods.”

Briana shuffled the coasters, arranging them alphabetically: apples on top of bananas, bananas onto grapes, grapes onto oranges. “You think that’s weird?”

“A little...but I’m sure you can find everything a lot faster than me.”

“Heather, he didn’t look back once when he walked away.” Not satisfied, she began to re-sort: orange on top of purple, purple topping red, red on top of yellow.

“He’s already moved on, honey. Once a man cleans off his shoes on the welcome mat, he forgets about the dirt he just tracked through. It’s why he always leaves muddy footprints.”

Briana set the coasters back on top of the side table and clasped her hands on her lap to make herself stop. “I hate that.”

“I bet you do.”

The starch in her friend’s voice almost had her smiling. But only for a second. She closed her eyes and rubbed the bridge of her nose, feeling a headache coming on. “I can’t believe it. I’m a starter wife, aren’t I?”

“A starter wife?”

“Yeah, the one he needed when he was getting started.”

“Honey, you need to stop thinking about him. He’s so not worth it.” An audible sigh sounded over the line. “When was the last time you did something spontaneous?”

“What do you mean?”

“Do I have to pull out the dictionary?”

“I know what it means, but I’m capable of spontaneity.”

“Sure you are,” Heather said dryly.

“I am,” Briana sputtered. “I do…spontaneous things all the time.”

“I just bet you do, like when you shop for groceries and think about what you’re gonna make for dinner?”

“Well, no. You know I always have my list.”

“Uh-huh… When was the last time you did something wild and outrageous?”

Never. Briana bit her lip. They both knew she didn’t do anything without planning. “I can be outrageous. Maybe I’ll paint my toenails blue…I’ll just have to add—”

“—the polish to your shopping list?”

Another long pause had Briana ready to end the conversation she felt so depressed, so lacking in the “normal” gene.

“You know what the problem is, don’t you?”

“Other than my husband left me?”

“He’s not in his proper place. Hell, you get a panic attack when a coffee cup doesn’t get turned right side up in a cupboard. Why don’t you stick a pin in the map and take a trip? Get away from everything familiar. Give your brain a chance to reset some switches.”

“I can’t just take off. I have plans. There’s the luncheon with the ladies tomorrow.”

“Um…about that, Bri…”

Briana heard the hesitation in Heather’s voice, and her stomach sank. “They don’t want me to come, do they?”

“They asked me to talk to you. Some of the bitches think it might be a bit uncomfortable for you there.”

Briana snorted. “That’s so sweet,” she said, letting a little acid bleed through her tone. “They’re concerned about how I might feel?”

“Yeah. They’re probably afraid it’s catchin’. You know, the Big D.”

Briana heard the growl in her friend’s voice and almost smiled again. Count on Heather to always have her back. “It’s too bad we can’t be spontaneous together.”

“Yeah, twins kinda rule that out. I could use some ‘me’ time.”

“Maybe I’ll take your advice.”

“You should.” By her tone, she seemed doubtful. “Maybe an opportunity will come faster than you think.”

“Maybe…”

“I’m just sayin’, keep your options open.”

“Seems like my calendar’s going to be completely free,” Briana said, forcing cheerfulness into her voice she was far from feeling.

“You feel better? Any less anxious?”

“Yeah. Thanks, Heather.”

“What are friends for? Call me tomorrow?”

“I will.” As she hung up the phone, she wished she could be the person Heather wanted her to be. But how could she pick up and leave if there was even a chance Jonathan might want to talk? Seven years they’d been together. For seven years, she’d run the social side of his business. The man had never lifted a finger to make any plans, any arrangements.

He didn’t have her Rolodex.

When he called, she’d be cool. She wouldn’t answer the telephone on the first or even the second ring. Maybe after he’d asked to come back, she’d do as he’d suggested. See someone who could help her be a little less…obsessive.

God, that word again. She wasn’t that person, was she?

She just needed another chance, another shot at showing him she could be perfect enough.
Heather was right about one thing. Briana didn’t like things out of place. She knew she ought to be more concerned about the fact he’d cheated, but she couldn’t shake the anxiety that kept her heart racing and her palms damp.

Jonathan wasn’t in his proper place. She’d felt that most keenly the previous night when she lay down to sleep. Weight wasn’t distributed on her mattress in the way she was accustomed. She hadn’t had to fight rolling toward the middle. She’d been perfectly, wretchedly level.

No, Heather would never understand that she could forgive him fucking a whore in the middle of her clean sheets, but she couldn’t forgive him upsetting the balance in her bed.

* * *

After yet another sleepless night, Briana awoke feeling groggy, her head pounding. The house was spotlessly clean. Every closet was reorganized. Even the tools on the pegboard inside the garage had received her attention. Jonathan wouldn’t find fault with anything—if he ever came back.

She was beginning to doubt he would. He hadn’t called once. Wednesday had passed, which meant he’d been back to work for two full days and hadn’t needed her help with arranging a single luncheon appointment or dinner reservation. Perhaps he’d already hired an anal bitch to take her place.

Slowly, over the past few days she’d come to terms with the fact he wasn’t coming back. Which left her wondering what she should do next. Nearly paralyzed by the worries that flashed through her mind, one after the other, she’d worked like an automaton cleaning the house and working in the garden to exhaust herself enough she wouldn’t notice how silent the house was, or how empty her bed felt.

She’d tried to look at the bright side. She no longer had to clean up after Jonathan, but that left her with even more time on her hands. Then the niggling thought flashed that maybe she wouldn’t be able to hold onto the house once they divorced. What would he be made to pay in a settlement? They didn’t have any children; the time had never been right to begin the family he’d wanted.

There was only her. What judge would understand that she might lose her mind if she were forced to move someplace else? As soon as that thought occurred, she’d shoved it back into her subconscious, unwilling to face it. Not yet.

She had the morning’s dishes to do.

With the lemon-fresh scent of the frothy water soothing her, she slowly cleansed her coffee cup and dish, and then grabbed the spoon rest next to the stove and the magnets from the refrigerator to wash them, too. She pointedly kept her gaze from the window in front of her, not wanting to watch the driveway as she’d done compulsively for days.

When at last she had nothing left to clean, she let out the water, dried her plastic gloves and pulled them off, folding them before tucking them in their baggie beneath the sink. Then she washed the scent of the gloves from her hands, slathered on rose-scented hand cream, and slid her diamond ring back into place on her third finger.

As she held her hand up, the perfect stone caught the light shining through the window, refracting multi-colored rays like a prism.

The perfect ring for the perfect girl.

That’s what Jonathan had said when they chose the ring together before they married. When had he come to hate “perfect”?

A metallic clang sounded from outside, and she dropped her hand and curled her fingers tightly. The mail. Probably with a stack of bills. She hadn’t checked her household account to see whether Jonathan had added funds for her to pay them. Something she’d let slip.

She hurried to the door and opened it, watching as the mailman stepped off the flagstone pathway onto the sidewalk on his way to the next house. Reaching into the metal box beside her door, she lifted the lid and took out the envelopes, letting the lid drop with a loud clang.

As she turned back toward her door, she sorted through the envelopes. Nothing urgent.

Advertisements for new credit cards, a coupon for a car wash…

A metallic clang sounded behind her again, and she turned, her brow wrinkling. Had a breeze lifted the lid?

Still, she couldn’t resist checking the box like Pavlov’s dog expecting another treat even knowing the routine had been somehow changed.

She swirled her hand inside the box, and her fingers touched on something. Withdrawing her hand, she found she held a postcard advertisement, but one unlike anything she’d ever seen.
The edges were pristine, not a single fray or bend. No postmark. On one side, the glossy side, there was a picture of a beach—a long scythe-like stretch of white sand that curved until it disappeared, sandwiched between a line of symmetrical palm trees and lapping azure waves.

The jagged, vertical cliffs in the background were softened by lush vegetation draping their steep sides.

The palms, so straight and perfectly spaced, appealed to Briana instantly. So did the empty expanse of sand. When she looked closer, she saw a man standing in the shadows beneath one tree, wearing only a pareo knotted at his waist.

Even in the shadows, she could tell how perfectly made he was. His chest was smooth, his muscles well defined, and his waist lean and narrow with the knot in the colorful fabric resting atop one notch of his slim hips. His smooth skin was the color of coffee lightened with cream. His hair hung in dark ropes to his shoulders.

Her breath caught at the expression on his face—full lips turned up slightly at the corners, a chocolate gaze held wide and entrancing. His nose was narrower than she would have expected among features that looked Samoan or Hawaiian and flared only slightly at the end. He seemed to beckon her, to dare her to say “Yes.”

Reluctantly, she turned the card over. The texture on this side was slightly gritty and the same pale shade as the sandy beach. The lettering was in black and had the look of handwritten calligraphy. At the top was an embossed flower in deep, reddish orange.

Prepared to quickly skim the contents and flip the card again for another glimpse of the beach and the man, her gaze snagged on the greeting.

To Ms. Briana Neeson:

You are cordially invited to The Island, a place where your most fervent desires come to life with just one wish. At The Island, we cater to your needs…seduce you beyond your inhibitions…set you free to discover the woman you were meant to be. This invitation is given to a select few, and you’ve been chosen. Should you choose to accept this invitation, you agree that you are ready for a change, that you are freeing yourself to experience something you’ve never dared to dream, and in doing so, your desire to be fulfilled, to reach perfection will manifest deliciously…

“And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.”

This invitation will expire in twenty-four hours, Briana. You can contact us at
800-555-9860 to experience the fantasy of a lifetime. We’re waiting for your call…

Absently, Briana laid the other correspondence on a pewter dish on top of the foyer’s bureau and slowly closed the front door behind her. Although she knew the postcard was just a seductively designed advertisement meant to catch her eye, she couldn’t suppress the thrill that shot through her. As though the invitation spoke directly to her soul.

Before she had time to think twice and drop the card into the trash, she reached for the phone and dialed Heather’s number. She’d know what to do. She would tell her it was a scam, a lure to entice lonely women into giving up their credit card numbers and embarking on an adventure that could only disappoint.

However, Heather didn’t instantly discredit the postcard. In minutes, she stepped across the threshold, her hand extended for the invitation, which she read intently for several minutes.
Briana braced herself for disappointment.

Instead, Heather’s eyes widened as she lifted them to meet Briana’s gaze. “Let’s dial the number,” she said, excitement quivering in her voice.

And because this was the first time in days that Briana had felt a swell of something other than grief, she let Heather’s excitement sweep her along.

Before she knew it, Heather had taken down the details, handing the phone to Briana for her to give them her dietary preferences, bungalow versus hotel room, view of a beach or the island’s volcano, and so many other things that Briana’s head swam.

When she handed back the phone to Heather, she stood still, only half-listening as she realized she was seriously considering the trip.

Heather hung up the phone, turned toward her, and then let out a girlish squeal as she wrapped her arms around her and squeezed hard. “Girl, you have to do this. It’s perfect!”

Briana shook her head and pulled away. “This is crazy. You know that, right? I can’t afford a vacation like this.”

“Yes, you can. It’s only three days.” She shoved the paper she’d used to take down the details and circled the figure at the bottom. “That’s an all-inclusive price—airfare, hotel, and meals. Charge it to your credit card.”

“But I might need that money. Who says Jonathan’s going to keep paying the bill?”

Heather’s eyes narrowed, and then fell to Briana’s hand. “Sweetie, if you’re worried about cost, I have a solution for you.”

Before Briana could muster up another half-hearted protest, she let Heather slip the ring off her finger.

“I know this guy who runs a jewelry store. It’s not a pawn shop, not really, but he will hold the ring for a month before offering it up for resale. His commission isn’t outrageous.” She slipped the ring into her purse, and then grabbed both Briana’s hands. “You have to do this. Remember, we talked about you getting away? You’ve been living like a mole. I bet you haven’t been any farther than the edge of your lawn, have you?”

Briana nodded slowly. “But this is crazy.”

“You know what’s crazy? You waiting on that asshole to change his mind and ask to come back. You don’t need him. Not for a damn thing. You take this vacation. Let your island guide show you everything you’ve been missing—”

“Island guide?”

“You know that man on the front of the postcard?”

Briana nodded—he was the reason she hadn’t immediately consigned the card to the trash can.
Heather’s lips stretched into a wide grin. “He’s yours if you want him.”

If you enjoyed this excerpt, please purchase a copy of Obsessed by Delilah Devlin at your local bookstore or online at: http://www.amazon.com/Obsessed-Invitation-Odyssey-Strebor-Quickiez/dp/159309230X/ref=sr_1_4?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1248350501&sr=1-4

Rodney Lofton Signs No More Tomorrows in Washington, D.C.

2009-07-23T07:55:00.001-04:00

Rodney Lofton signs No More Tomorrows: Two Lives, Two Stories, One Love on his Washington, D.C. tour:

Thursday, July 23, 2009, 6:30 pm

Lambda Rising, 1625 Connecticut Ave., NW, Washington, DC

Friday, July 24, 2009, noon to 2 pm

B. Dalton, Union Station, 50 Massachusetts Ave. NE, Washington, DC

Friday, July 25, 2009, 3 to 5 pm

Books a Million, 503 King Street, Alexandria, VA

Saturday, July 25, 2009, 1:30 to 3 pm

The Literary Joint, Centre at Forestville (formerly Forest Village Park Mall)3393 Donnell Drive, Forestville, MD

Sat. July 25, 2009, 7 pmBook release event: Us Helping Us, Inc. 3636 Georgia Avenue, NWWashington, DC(202) 446-1100

Zane's Boudoir-August 7, 2009

2009-07-21T14:10:00.000-04:00

Excerpt from Auctioned by Kimberly Kaye Terry

2009-07-21T13:38:00.003-04:00

Excerpt from Auctioned: An Invitation Erotic Odyssey by Kimberly Kaye Terry

ZANE COMMENT

Auctioned is part of the Invitation Erotic Odyssey Series along with Disciplined by Allison Hobbs and Obsessed by Delilah Devlin. They are part of the Strebor Quickies line, economically priced at $9.95 per copy but with enough action, romance, and sex for books that cost twice as much. I hope that you will check it out.

Blessings, Zane

Book Description

A rejected, overachieving workaholic attempts to overcome her rage and humiliation during a whirlwind, hedonistic weekend in which her true worth is put to the test -- when she gives up control, she feels an exhilarating freedom she's never felt before.

Chase Davidson has always been driven to succeed. Growing up poor, Chase vowed she would rise above the squalor of her childhood and become successful. When her Fortune 500 Company doesn't promote her, Chase is beyond distraught. Disgraced and furious, she wants her power back. Needing a quick fix to soothe her damaged ego, she impulsively accepts an invitation to an island adventure that promises to fulfill her every desire -- including her desire to be "number one." Forced out of her comfort zone, both emotional and sexual, what she experiences is more than what she bargained for, but exactly what she needed.

Chapter One

“Look, I want that report on my desk now. Not in the next couple of hours, not tomorrow, or the next day. Now.” Chase ended the connection in the middle of the new advertising assistant’s blabbering and apologizing, not interested in anything the inept man had to say.

Her short, manicured nails flew over her keyboard as she drafted the first marketing plan for the lucrative new account she knew was hers. All of her careful courting would pay off, and the position of president of marketing would be hers once she landed the multimillion-dollar deal.
One corner of her full, mauve-tinted lips hitched up in a smile. Euphoria enveloped her at the thought of occupying the large corner office with the breathtaking view of the downtown Dallas skyline that would come with the promotion.

A near orgasmic shudder of delight coursed through her body.

Her eyes were half-closed behind the small square-framed, designer glasses perched on the bridge of her nose, and a sigh of pleasure escaped from between her pursed lips.

She removed one hand from the keyboard and lightly stroked a hand over the head of the man between her thighs as his head bobbed up and down and his gifted tongue softly lapped the inner lips of her vagina. Although her attention was fully on the screen of her computer, she continued to pet him, encouraging him silently to continue.

She released a very low moan when he captured her plump, blood-engorged clit and suckled it deep into his mouth. When he inserted a finger inside her moist core and pumped in and out, she closed her eyes, bit her fuller bottom lip, but didn’t utter a word.

She’d become quite proficient at maintaining silence when needed since her discovery of Javier and his spectacular tongue.

Under her desk, where no one could see—if anyone were to enter her office unannounced, he licked and prodded her, stroked and suckled her cunt with hot delicious strokes, while his fingers delved deep into her core and withdrew her moisture.

He used her juices to rim the puckered hole of her anus, lightly stroking, but not daring to imbed his slender finger all the way inside, plying her pussy and ass until her body began to quake. Her limbs tensed, and the muscles in her vagina clamped in a painful constriction with her orgasm hovering, ready to break free.

But he was careful not to bring her to completion.

He knew better than to do that.

He’d learned over the course of the last months of their association that her release was not his to give.

She no longer had to forcibly move his greedy mouth as he devoured her creaming pussy, desperate to take her to the ultimate little death and to prove something she didn’t require from him when she felt the beginnings of her orgasm unfurl.

He’d learned to read the signs her body made when she was dangerously close to orgasm.
She felt the tingling sensation begin to strum through her body, heralding that her release was near.

The walls of her pussy contracted and pulsed in a steady relentless beat, and her limbs began the fine trembling that signaled her body was ready to submit to orgasm.

She moaned, placing her hands in the thick, silky strands of his hair and ground against his face. As he licked her and suckled her clit so hard, her back arched sharply away from her chair with every slick press of his tongue.

“Enough!” She barked the words softly, yet his marauding tongue refused to obey. With an expertise that made her bite the inside of her cheek to prevent a scream from releasing, he hollowed out his tongue and shoved it deep into her creaming core.

Chase’s eyes flew open as realization dawned on how close she was, how close he had been, to making her come.

“Enough, goddamn it.” She forcibly stopped her orgasm. Her jaw clenched and tightened as she fought for control. Her fingers dug into his head, and she grasped handfuls of his hair, pulling his head from between her thighs.

She stared down at him angrily as he sat crouched between her thighs with the evidence of his oral activities smeared over his face.

His breathing was uneven, and his eyes glittered almost maniacally with a look she’d never seen before. It vanished as quickly as it appeared, too quick for her to catalogue and process its meaning.

“Bring the bag,” she bit out the words, licking dry lips. Her breathing was labored and harsh, mimicking his as she fought to bring her body back under control.

She pushed away from her desk, and her chair nearly toppled with the force. But she ignored it as she strode around the desk. Her eyes quickly moved to the closed door, making sure the lock was in place before she turned back to Javier.

With her eyes narrowed, she waited for him to bring the small, pink bag to her and withdraw the contents.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice low and husky. His eyes averted from hers in submission as he handed her the dainty beribboned bag.

“Look at me, Javier,” she said in a tight, controlled voice.

When he turned around, she placed a long, slender finger beneath his chin, forcing him to look at her as she ran assessing eyes over his flushed, darkly handsome face, searching for a hint of what she thought she’d seen when she pushed him away.

“Look at me,” she demanded again, gentling her voice.

For long moments, their gazes locked, his with a slight fear. She knew her gaze was unflinching and cold.

Slowly she moved her finger down his throat, circled the base of his throat with her long fingers, and applied a slight pressure, until he began to cough.

She smiled, knowing he enjoyed the power play as much as she. Once she asserted her dominance, Chase slowly released her hold.

She feathered her fingers down his throat, past his hard, chiseled chest and stopped at the waistband of his slacks. She kept her eyes glued to his as she unfastened his pants, peeling the edges along the zipper aside and yanked them, along with his briefs, down the length of his legs.
After she removed the bag from his tightly clenched hands, she murmured, “Turn around.”

His eyes were bright and shining, an anticipatory gleam in their dark depths as he licked his lips and did as she requested.

He placed both hands on the edge of the large, mahogany desk and lowered his head, braced himself, and waited.

Lifting her skirt, Chase deftly eased her panties down and attached the long, thick dildo to the harness she wore, nestling the base against her clit, snugly, and grasped him by his lean hips.
Separating the hard, muscled cheeks of his ass, she began to feed him her dick. A low growl of satisfaction came from her lips, accompanied by his moaning cries of welcome.

“Hold on, tight. This won’t be easy,” Chase promised darkly, her breath fanning the fine hairs at the nape of his neck.

She felt a fine tremor run over his body at her hot words of intent.

Without waiting for a response, her fingers tightened on his hips and drove into him in one deep stroke. Her lips pulled back in a feral grin when he gasped, his body arching sharply against the strength of her invasion.

Once the inner muscles of his walls relaxed, allowing her to press into him as far as she could, Chase allowed him no time to become accustomed to her length. Instead she began to move.
Flexing, surging, and plunging, she rolled her hips, plunging deep into his ass. The feel of the artificial dick spanking against her clit stimulated her and aroused her. As she glanced down at their joined bodies, the sight of her dick easing in and out of him as her hips moved against him aroused her even more.

With her legs braced far apart, she removed one hand from his hip and trailed it around to the front of his body, shoving the ends of his shirt aside to grasp his hard, thick rod in her hand.
She feathered her fingers over the turgid length of his shaft and back to his balls, lightly grasping the twin plum-like spheres in her hands. He moaned when she applied a slight pressure, rolling and massaging them in the palm of her hand before her hand dropped away.

She again grasped his cock in hand, circling the base with her thumb and middle finger, and lightly stroked up the length before using the pad of her thumb to swipe across the tiny eye in the center of the bulbous knob, wiping away his sticky pre-cum.

“Taste it,” she encouraged.

After placing her thumb in his mouth, he did as she requested, suckling her thumb and making moaning sounds of delight as he licked her finger clean.

She laughed and removed her thumb from his greedy mouth and grasped his lean hips with both hands, fucking him in long strokes to his accompanying mewling cries of pleasure and pain, so interwoven they blended as one melodious cry of rapture.

Chase delivered a sharp, warning slap on the cheeks of his ass.

Immediately his guttural moans were quieted, becoming small whimpering sighs of pleasure even as he pushed back against her invasion.

Her hips moved with precision, surging in and out of him smoothly, the fire inside of her building, growing, with each drag and pull inside his clenching heat. Chase fucked him in sure, easy glides. He cried out, slamming his hips back against her mound, begging her to do him harder, deeper.
Yet she kept her strokes, slow, methodical.

She marinated in him in deliberate, slick strokes, ignoring his fervent moans as he accepted—welcomed—her thrusts, the muscled cheeks of his ass flexing and tensing as she rocked into him.
Chase felt so strong, so alive…so in control as she plunged in and out of Javier. The feeling of being buried deep inside of him was an addictive feeling, downright exhilarating.

She bit the lower rim of her lips to the point of pain, her breathing becoming harsher with each roll of her hips against him.

Her head snapped back, and the corded veins in her neck pulsed and throbbed as she felt her hovering orgasm threatening to break. Instead of pushing it away, as she had when he laved between her thighs, she reached for it.

When her orgasm was seconds from spilling over, she reached around his body with her hand. Gently, yet firmly, she cupped his balls, rolling the spheres in her hand until he released a harsh, keening moan.

She grasped his shaft, ran her hands down the length of the steely pipe, in quick, deadly succession, and he broke. His body jerked and spasmed as his cum—thick, white and hot—spewed like a geyser over her hand.

Chase grit her teeth, clenched her eyes tightly shut, and desperately held on to her control even as her orgasm slammed into her. Unable to hold back, the dam broke, and her cum overflowed, weakening her for that brief moment, so that she had to hang on to his hips as she delivered the last of her thrusts into his quaking body.

When it was over, she laid her chest over his heaving back, blanketing his body for that one moment at peace.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

His body fully collapsed on the desk, and Chase’s fingers loosened their death grip on his hips as she drew her body away from his.

“Why…why do you…?” he panted, unable to finish the question as he lay spent and useless, his upper body sprawled on top of her desk.

She ignored his question. She knew he loved having her fat dick working his ass as much as she loved giving it to him.

“Ms. Davidson.” Chase’s eyes narrowed as she listened to her assistant’s voice come over the small discreet intercom on her desk. “I’m sorry to interrupt your…lunch.”

“What is it, Christine?”

“Your presence has been requested in the boardroom as soon as you’re able.”

“I’ll be right there,” she replied, smoothly easing out of Javier.

She reached inside the dainty, pink bag to lift out a pre-moistened tissue. Carefully she wiped the length of the dildo and tossed the used wipe in the trash bin under her desk before placing the dildo back inside the bag.

She moved away from the prostrate man, deftly removed the harness from her hips, and placed it in one of the drawers of her desk before skimming her hands down the length of her body and tugging her skirt into place.

Turning to look at her reflection in the small, wall-mounted mirror, she quickly pulled out another desk drawer, withdrew her lipstick, and ran the tinted, bulbous end over her lips before placing it back in the drawer.

She rubbed her lips together, then raised her hands to her hair, smoothing away errant strands that had escaped the tight chignon secured at the nape of her neck.

Once satisfied with her appearance, she lifted her leather carryall, hooked the strap over her shoulder, and walked toward the door.

With her hand on the knob, she turned back around. Javier had gotten up from his prone position and was fumbling with his slacks.

“Don’t ever forget who’s in control. If you do that again, I won’t go so easy on you the next time,” she said, letting him know that she was aware of his transgression. Had she not stopped him, he would have brought her to orgasm.

Even from the distance she was from him, she could see his olive-tinted face blanch and a fine tremor course over his body in response to her threat.

With a smile of satisfaction, she turned and left.

Chapter Two

“Have a seat, Chastity.” William Buford stood when Chastity entered the boardroom. A wide smile creased his fleshy, rosy face as he motioned for Chase to take a seat.

William Buford was one of three senior managers in the marketing firm of Manhattan Buford, and his being in attendance at the meeting definitely alerted Chastity that indeed, she would be joining the ranks of senior managers.

“Thank you, sir,” she replied, her confidence soaring. Not only was William Buford in the room, but the other two senior managers were in attendance as well, reconfirming that she was minutes away from being offered the president of marketing position.

After she sat down and accepted the glass of ice water from a waiting attendant, Chastity glanced around the room. She returned the smiles of Lance Buford and Emily Manhattan, both of whom held key positions at Manhattan Buford.

“I’d like to begin by congratulating you on landing the Stratham deal. It was truly a coup for you and the firm. Well done,” William Buford continued.

“Thank you, sir. I’m very pleased with the results as well,” she replied, feeling proud of not only what she had accomplished but that she’d done so after several others in her department had failed to acquire the account.

“Yes, well, you should be!” Lance chimed in. “In fact, you’ve been watched carefully, these last few weeks, by not only the partners but also Mr. Baptiste.”

Daemon Baptiste was the man who owned controlling shares in Manhattan Buford. Chase, as well as all of the upper management to most of the secretarial pool, knew of him.

Although he’d never been seen in the Dallas, New York, and California offices of Manhattan Buford, he was the driving force behind Manhattan Buford.

He owned controlling stock and held the position of CEO of the firm, yet no one besides the partners knew much about him. Gossip floated around the office—that he was a hardnosed businessman, one of the richest men in the country, and also one of the most reclusive.

Few images of him were seen publicly, and the available ones were profiles or from a distance. Upon learning about him, Chase had been mildly curious and had sought to find out more about him. No personal information could be found. She found only the bare facts, reports in financial documents, and legal transactions.

What she did know was that Baptiste was a billionaire tycoon who acquired failing businesses, invested money and new management, spearheading the turnaround until the business was not only solvent but also immensely profitable. He then turned around and sold it off to the highest bidder in multimillion, even billion-dollar, deals.

Several years ago, when Manhattan Buford had been in jeopardy of going bankrupt, Baptiste bought the company and within a year, had revitalized it, even taking it beyond its previous levels of success.

However, instead of selling, he’d held on for reasons no one knew. He left the daily operations with the original partners; however, his unseen presence was felt.

“Wow, now I’m impressed.” Chase brought the crystal goblet to her lips and took a sip of water, hiding the satisfied smile that hovered around her lips.

As the cold liquid eased down her throat, she fought back the giddy feeling of triumph that threatened to make her lose control. But it was all she could do not to jump up from her chair and turn a series of undignified, joyful cartwheels straight down the middle of the expensive and rich mahogany table.

Yes, the position was hers. She knew it.

And the fact that Baptiste knew of her was simply icing on the cake.

“However, before we go into all of that, we have to wait for Mr. Serrano,” William finished, catching Chase completely off guard and making her smile slip.

“Mr. Serrano? I’m afraid I don’t understand.” She carefully placed the goblet on the table, turning questioning eyes to the managers.

“Well—”

The door opened at that moment, interrupting whatever William had been planning to say.
Chastity’s eyes narrowed slightly, and a sense of foreboding swamped over her when the assistant brought Javier into the room and quietly exited.

“I’m sorry I was late, gentlemen…Ms. Davidson.” First, he gave his shit-eating, groveling smile to the partners before turning his smile to Chase and slyly giving her a wink, one that no one saw but her.

The sense of foreboding increased, and she watched his narrow ass sit down in the offered seat after fastidiously brushing away imaginary wrinkles from the 800-dollar, charcoal-gray Armani suit she’d gifted him last week. For work well done.

Chase continued to watch him as he straightened the cuffs of his shirt. The overhead light hit the shining, fourteen-carat gold-and-diamond encrusted links—the same ones she gave him for Valentine’s Day—so that they seemed to wink at her much as he had, mocking her.

“Well, let’s get this started, shall we, gentlemen…Chastity?” William Buford glanced around the table and once he was assured all eyes were on him, began to speak.

“Chastity, again, we want to congratulate you on the deal. Amazing job, well done. Absolutely amazing! We’ve been trying to get the Stratham business for over two years. You step in and seal the deal in less than two months. Brilliant!” He rubbed his large, beefy hands together. A smile of pure greed spread across his fleshy lips, splitting his lips so wide his canine teeth were exposed, giving his features an uncomplimentary, wolfish appearance.

“Yes, well, I did work hard for it. In fact—” Her words were cut off when Javier broke in.

“Yes, she did. To see her in action, see how she worked it, how she so cunningly manipulated them, worked on their emotions, found their weakness, exploited them…in a good way of course, was truly amazing,” he said with a laugh. The board members laughed along with him.

Chastity grit her teeth as her heartbeat slammed against her chest. The son-of-a-bitch was making her seem like some damn piranha as though she were nothing more than a cutthroat shark.

“Well, I wouldn’t quite put it like that,” she said, cutting in.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it in a bad way! Not at all! I’ve learned so much…being under your tutelage, Ms. Davidson,” he replied, turning his attention toward her, the expression on his face guileless as though butter wouldn’t melt in his conniving mouth.

She nodded her head shortly and gave him a tight smile, while clamping down on the impeding feeling of disaster looming.

“Yes, it definitely shows how well you’ve learned under Ms. Davidson’s mentorship, Javier,” Maurice’s booming, jovial voice cut in. The feeling of doom amplified when he called Javier by his first name.

“Which is why, in great part, Javier owes you a great deal of gratitude.”

Chase cocked her head to the side, raising a brow in question, although she already knew, deep inside, exactly what William Buford meant.

She damn well already knew.

“As you know, Maurice Hines recently left Manhattan Buford, and with his departure, the position of president of marketing opened.”

Chastity glanced around the room of smiling executives; a scream of denial lodged tightly in her throat.

She listened with distant awareness as they ran down Javier’s qualifications—an MBA from Harvard with an emphasis in management, graduating at the top of his class along with his brief tenure working at Manhattan Buford where he’d been promoted due to long hours and his talent.

The same qualifications that she possessed and more.

“Although he’s been with us a short time, we believe that Javier has what it takes to take over the position; his leadership and education are above reproach. He—”

“That position is mine.” Chase broke into William Buford’s spiel not wanting to hear another word of his detailed outline of Javier’s qualifications.

William stopped, and all eyes turned to Chastity. She saw a mocking glint spark in Javier’s dark gaze as he too looked at her.

“Excuse me, Ms. Davidson?”

“With no disrespect intended, sir…That position should be mine.”

“Yes, well…” He stopped, and, for a moment, Chase felt a sharp sense of triumph as he floundered, trying to find the right words to say. “Yes, Ms. Davidson, you are very qualified for the position as well. You’ve proven how—”

“Then why? And why wasn’t I told that Javier was in the running for this?” Her question was sharp, to the point, the muscles in her face sore from the tight control she was keeping on herself.

“It wasn’t an easy decision, Chastity. But we feel it’s the best one,” William replied, almost gently. She gazed angrily at him, hating the look of pity she saw in his watery blue eyes.

“Then why?” She could not look at Javier. To do so would make her falter and lose what little control she desperately held on her emotions.

“To be honest, Javier has what we’re particularly looking for, for this position.”

“Chase, look, you know how much we’ve wanted to get a foot in the Latin market. Javier recently has met Roberto Chavez,” he said, mentioning the name of a key player in a successful Hispanic-owned and operated advertising agency whose projects included national commercial print and media ads. “With his courting, they are now considering working with us—”

“Considering?”

“Yes. Nothing is confirmed. As I said, we feel confident that Javier will be able to bring us the account.” A deep red flushed the man’s cheeks, and when he couldn’t look directly at Chastity, she turned to stare at Javier before turning back to face Buford.

“What the hell is this about? And don’t give me that bullshit line that Javier ‘has what it takes’ to run the position,” she said his name with disdain, jerking a thumb in his direction. “That’s a line of crap and we all know that. I worked all day, every day, never took one damn day of vacation time, working long nights, then took work home on weekends...making sure the work was done, and done correctly. No matter who the hell took off, I was there, working my ass off! I’ve just landed…not ‘considering’…landed…a multi-million dollar account and you have the audacity to tell me this shit?”

The room was silent after her outburst. The proverbial pen could have dropped and all would have heard it. No one said a word, the tension in the room so palpable and thick it felt like a noose around her neck.

“We have another position for you, Chastity. One which we feel you will see the merits of, given time—” William Buford was the first to speak.

“And what would that be?”

There was an ominous moment of silence, and Chase watched them exchange nervous-looking glances. There was a wealth of communication in their silent conversation, one that confused her as much as angered her.

“Mr. Baptiste wants you to work with him.”

“What?”

“As his assistant.”

“His assistant?” Chase narrowed her eyes, spearing them with her glance. She carefully took note of the nervous way William played with the tip of his gold-covered fountain pen, and the way Emily Manhattan avoided her eyes. “So, you’re telling me, I’m being demoted?”

“No! Not at all, please, Ms. Davidson, listen—”

“This is utter and complete bullshit.”

“I’m sorry that you feel that way, Chastity. You are a valuable member of this team.”

“If I’m so valuable, why am I being demoted to assistant, William? Tell me that!”

“I’m not at liberty to discuss that with you, at this time. Mr. Baptiste himself will be in contact with you—”

“I don’t think so. You can tell Mr. Baptiste he can damn well find himself another lackey. I quit.”

There was silence in the room, for long minutes. Chastity turned her head away, and fought back the burn of tears she felt threatening to fall, until she heard the scrape of chairs easing against the plush carpeting, indicating the men were leaving the table.

And that was it. No asking her to reconsider, no negotiating, nothing.

One by one, they left the room. Chastity kept her face averted until she heard the sound of the door opening and closing. When she thought they were all gone, she turned back around, and came face to face with Javier.

He smiled and leaned down, whispering in her ear, “Who got screwed now, bitch?”

She clenched her jaw and said nothing. She simply watched him turn around and saunter toward the door before he left the room.

One lone tear escaped, unnoticed, and trailed down Chastity’s cheek.

Chapter Three

“Hey lady, what’s going on? I ain’t seen you in a while.”

Chase walked into the dark, deserted bar and offered a smile to the man who stood behind the bar wiping down the counter with another towel.

“Not a whole lot, Mickey. What about you?” she asked as she walked inside, stopping when she reached the bar.

She pulled out one of the high bar stools and climbed onto the seat, placing her bag and laptop on the empty stool beside her.

“Can’t complain. Wife is out visiting her mama, got the place to myself for a change,” he answered, grinning widely and exposing a shining set of pearly-white dentures that glistened starkly against his charcoal-colored skin.

“Yeah, and what are you going to do with all that freedom?” she asked and nodded her head when he put a glass of whiskey in front of her.

“Hmmm. Don’t know. Maybe I’ll have that orgy I been thinkin’ about,” he replied and winked.
Chase offered a small smile in return and swirled the shot glass around, the amber-colored liquid swirling around the small chunks of tinkling ice.

“You gonna play with that or actually drink it?” the old man asked in a hoarse voice, thanks to years of smoking and hard drinking.

She lifted the glass to her lips, drank it in one swallow, and shut her eyes as the alcohol burned and slid down her throat.

After she placed the empty glass down, she raised her eyes and caught Mickey staring at her. A thoughtful expression lined his face.

“Fucked-up day at the office?” he asked, nodding his head toward the empty glass, silently asking if she wanted another.

She shook her head “no” to the refill.

“That’s putting it mildly.” Her laugh rang hollow even to her own ears.

“Wanna talk about it? I’ve been told I’m a good listener.”

Chase sighed and shook her head, still stunned at the turn of events over the last few hours.

“Have you ever had your dreams snatched from you, Mickey? Have you ever been this close?” she asked, putting up two fingers indicating the length span of an inch. “This close to being number one? And just when the prize is within range, after years of building to that moment, it vanishes. Poof. And you’re left freefalling, adrift, and no idea how the fuck it happened?” Chase laughed a harsh-sounding laugh, shaking her head. “Well, that’s about how I feel right now. All I wanted to be is number one…is that asking too much?” Although she voiced the question to Mickey, she knew he didn’t know the answer to the question, and was speaking to herself more than him.

“Sorry. Yeah…it’s been one of those kind of days,” she finished. “Look, I’d better go.” She glanced up at him as she spoke. . The forced smile that she had put on began to slide off her face when she noticed the intent way he was looking at her.

“Hey, why don’t you stick around a bit more? Like I said, I’m a good listener,” he offered, again, a look of worry creasing his wide forehead.

“No.” She wrinkled her nose. “I’m sure you are. I think I’ve opened up more than enough for one day. But thanks for the offer.” She smiled.

He opened his mouth to speak, but promptly closed it. “Why don’t you let me make you another drink, one of my specialties? Cures the blues…I even heard it can cure the common cold.” He laughed hoarsely.

“Does all that, huh?” She raised a brow. “No, but do you have anything good in the back? Something I can take home with me?”

The surprised look on his face almost made her laugh.

She rarely drank besides an occasional social glass and in the two years she’d known Mickey, he’d never seen her drink more than a shot or two at the most.

“Like I said…It’s been a real bitch of a day.”

He cocked his head to the side, as though considering something.

“I got just the thing for you. I ordered a few boxes of some real fancy shit last week for some rich guy giving a party: 2001 Cabernet Sauvignon—it just came in. He won’t know the difference if I take out a bottle or two.”

“For a price, right?”

“You know it, Boo.” He laughed, winking at her. His rotund, stout body ambled away toward the back and moments later he returned with a bottle of the wine, offering it for her inspection.
“Hmmm. Nice,” she murmured, taking the bottle from his hand and cradling it in her hand, the bottle neck nestled in her palm; the base, cool…soothing… against her inner arm.

“What do I owe you?” she asked, jumping from the barstool and grabbing her things from the stool beside her.

“It’s on the house.”

“Come on, what do I owe you, Mickey?” She raised incredulous eyes toward him.

“Take it and go before I change my mind.” He winked, and with a grin, she thanked him and turned to leave.

She was on her way out of the door when Mickey’s voice stopped her.

“You know, being number one can come with a high price. Some would say a harsh price. Are you ready to pay that price, Chase?”

She stared at the door, considering his question. “I’ve been ready for a long time, Mickey,” she answered without turning around.

If you enjoyed this excerpt and would like to purchase the book, please get it from your local bookstore or purchase it online at: http://www.amazon.com/Auctioned-Invitation-Odyssey-Strebor-Quickiez/dp/1593092326/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1248196905&sr=1-1

Does a Five-Year Age Difference Really Make a Difference?

2009-07-14T20:03:00.001-04:00

Dear Zane,

There's this guy and I find myself really attracted to him. But the problem is we work together, I don't believe in mixing business with pleasure, and there is a 5-year age difference. I know that he's something special because every time he comes around me, I smile and act all giddy, but I can't help but think that the age difference is going to become a problem for us so. For now, I’m just being an associate because I don't know if we should take it there and I also can't help thinking what if we don't work out and then, because we work together, it messes with our relationship at work.

Signed,
Five Years Younger

Dear Five Years Younger,

A five-year age difference is not tremendous when it comes to adults. I sense that you are somewhat young. There is nothing wrong with the age as long as you are both over eighteen. If you were saying ten years, then I might have a bigger comment.

The bigger issue is working together and taking the risk of ruining that relationship. Sometimes we read more into someone’s kindness than what is actually there. I have had many men make the assumption that I was romantically interested in them when that could not have been further from the case. I would suggest continuing to have a crush on him, establishing a good friendship, but leaving it at that. He may or may not already have a woman and you do not want to make a move and then have to suffer embarrassment daily at work.

Blessings,
Zane

A Sexless Marriage

2009-07-14T19:41:00.002-04:00

Dear Zane,

I realize that you are a very busy woman but I need a little bit of help. I am twenty-one years old and will be married for a year on my birthday. Here is the thing, my sex life sucks. I am bisexual and I want to have a threesome because I have never had one before. My husband will not let me. I realize that is selfish to say but there are some people who want to have a threesome with me and I want to do it with them. But I do not want to hurt my husband. My other question is how can I spice up my sex life with a man who seems to have no time for me anymore? Any advice would be helpful.

Signed,
Sexless Marriage

Dear Sexless Marriage,

Regarding the threesome, that is something that should have been discussed and decided upon before you got married last year; especially since you are bisexual. You knew that the possibility would exist for you to crave being with a woman. Your husband should and can expect you to confine your sex within the marriage, unless a mutual decision is made to do otherwise. The decision you must make is if you are willing to throw your marriage away to be with others. It may have been better to stay single. I often wonder why people get married and then want to have sex with others. Marriage is not mandatory and you could be single and have sex with whomever you want, whenever you want. But you chose to get married and I will assume you did that out of love. So, if you love him, you may have to make a sacrifice and place his feelings above your desires. He has made it clear that anything else is unacceptable.

As for him not having any time for you, that could be from a variety of things. One such thing might be the fact that you have made him feel sexually inadequate by asking to bring someone else into the bedroom. Some men get jealous of sex toys and masturbation, rather less their wife fucking other people. You need to sit him down and have a very candid discussion with him about your marriage and your concerns. Implement two “date nights” per week where both of you are on time and ready to spend quality time. That is a good start but do not start tripping on your marriage in less than a year. You are young but a commitment is a commitment.

Blessings,
Zane

Excerpt of Love Trumps Game

2009-07-14T16:13:00.003-04:00

ZANE COMMENT

Love Trumps Game is a phenomenal book, on so many levels. A lot of young ladies make the wrong choice when it comes to selecting a mate. Unfortunately, many become tied to someone for life after they become pregnant. Then it can be eighteen long years of hell, or longer. Added to that, the families also end up having to deal with the drama. Such is the case in Love Trumps Game, as a grandmother has to put her life on the line to protect her grandchildren from their insane father. I hope that you enjoy this excerpt and will give the book a chance. Blessings, Zane

BOOK DESCRIPTION

After her daughter's disappearance, a world-weary grandmother becomes the guardian of her two street-wise grandchildren -- but their demented, no-good father will do anything to get them back.

After twenty-nine years of marriage, Hattie has paid her dues. She's now retired and looking forward to enjoying her peaceful golden years. Unfortunately, her calm life is changed forever when her daughter Neema mysteriously disappears and she finds herself to be the sole guardian of her two unruly grandchildren. To make matters worse, their crazed father, Topps Jackson, is determined to get them back.

A ruthless drug dealer, Topps runs a dangerously lucrative drug trafficking operation. Now Topps wants to bring his young son into the business at an early age. The only person giving him grief and standing in his way is Hattie Sims. Grandmother or not, Hattie has to go.

Driven away by his constant threats, Hattie is forced to live her life on the run, depending on friends and family members to shield her and two grandchildren from danger. But there seems to be no place to hide from a monster like Topps Jackson. Hattie's options are running out. Soon Topps will find her. Realizing that she can't run forever, Hattie decides that enough is enough. She decides to stop running and face the monster for the last showdown.

EXCERPT OF LOVE TRUMPS GAME by D. Y. Phillips

Have you ever been in the same room with a monster?
Did you see how he did it? How he used fear as his weapon?
Could you smell, or see, death coming in his eyes?
What Hattie Sims saw when she came out from the bathroom of her home was a tall, muscular man standing in her living room. Her breath caught in her throat. She could have kicked herself for not remembering to lock that metal security door. After all, wasn’t that what it was for? To keep devils and monsters out?
“Why are you in my house?”
Topps Jackson was no stranger. Still, she hadn’t liked or trusted him from the first time she had laid eyes on him. Something about his eyes; they were dark and threatening. He had nice lips but rarely smiled.
“Chill out, Mama Hattie. I come in peace.” A toothpick was restless between his lips. Sneaky-looking eyes panned around her room as if he were casing the place.
“Your type ain’t welcome here.” Hattie refused to let her nervousness show. “And I’m not yo’ mama.”
He was dressed entirely in black. Large, muscular arms seemed more like thick, brown tree trunks protruding from the expensive jersey that he wore. “Good thang you not, or you’d be dead by now.”
It was probably ridiculous for her to attempt to manually remove him. She was a petite woman with delicate features. Still, Hattie straightened her back and stood her ground with the father of her grandchildren. His bodacious visit was what she got for not locking her metal security door; thinking that the delivery boy would be there soon with her grocery order.
“What is it you want? Say what you want and get out. You got no business being here.”
“Now see, that ain’t no way to be treating family.” Unfazed by her annoyance, Topps Jackson ambled over to table and picked up a wood-framed photo of her daughter, Myra. “Pretty,” he said, then grunted. He placed the frame back and ran a finger along the top of the table. “A little dusty in here. You might wanna take care of that when I leave.”
“Look, if you’re looking for Neema, she ain’t here.”
“Not looking for Neema. Looking for you; the mama that keeps putting nonsense in Neema’s head. You know, that shit about taking my kids and moving away.” Topps sniffed, looked around her old, cozy living room. It was clean, but worn-looking. He frowned like it was a shame to have an average existence with no frills.
Hattie couldn’t imagine what Neema saw in him. True, he was tall, handsome, cunning and, from what she’d heard, drug-dealing rich. He had materialistic wealth, yet, he represented everything a mother should warn her daughter about. Stay away from men that degrade women. Men that hurt women. Stay away from men on the opposite side of the law. Stay away.
“Like I said, you have no business being here.”
“I disagree. I feel like this. If my kids spend a lot of time over here, I need to know what’s up. How you hanging. You know what I’m saying, don’t you?” All six feet of man turned and slowly walked down her hallway, padding along her carpet in his expensive-looking black sneakers. “How many bedrooms you got here, ole lady?”
“You listen here, young man…” Hattie was right behind him, clutching the collar of her floral housedress. “You need to leave.”
“You gotta man up in this mutha?” Topps inquired as he opened doors and surveyed one room after another. “What? No nigger laying that pipe down? That explains a lot.”
“That’s not your business,” Hattie snapped. The nerve of this fool; talking this way to me.
“That’s how I feel when you stay all up in my business with Neema. See…” He grunted, looking down at her. “If you had a man tapping that ass, you wouldn’t have that problem.”
“Neema’s my daughter. I gave birth to her; not you.”
Topps turned to get up in her face. “I don’t care if you shot Neema out your wrinkled, gray-covered ass twice. She’s my boo-bitch now. Mine; so get over it.”
“I’m calling the police,” she said.
And she would have, but he was blocking the narrow hallway with his bulky frame. She could smell the toothpaste and cologne he’d used earlier; that’s how close he stood. The monster grinned; eyes red and nostrils flared. He snatched up her hand like she was some bratty child trying to slip away.
“Ouch, you’re hurting me!”
“This the deal here. You need to stop putting crazy ideas in Neema’s head. She ain’t no child no more. She ain’t going no muthafuckin’ place. You understand what I’m saying?”
“Let me go!”
His dark-eyed stare was so intense, it could have made a baby cry. Hattie felt like howling herself. The scowl on his face promised worse.
“I’m warning you, ole lady. If I hear my boo-bitch say she wanna take my kids and move away from me one more time, I’ll have to come back. We’ll be doing some real talking next time. Know what I’m saying, ole lady?”
When she didn’t answer, he squeezed her hand harder, causing a hot sting to zip through her hand and up her elbow. The pain nearly brought Hattie to her knees.
“You hear me or not?” he prompted again.
“I…I hear you…” She wanted to scream. Not being able to do anything about his presence grated on her nerves. At five feet three, one hundred and eighty, she was no match.
“That’s better,” Topps said, smirking. Hate was in his eyes. He patted the top of her head, much the same he would have a pet dog. “See, mama-bitch. I’m not so bad, am I?” It could have almost been misconstrued as a term of endearment. Clearly, it wasn’t. All women were bitches to Topps Jackson. “You alright.” He released her hand.
“I want you out of my house.” Hattie massaged her hand while Topps removed a moist cloth from a packet in his pocket and wiped germs from his hands.
“Not so fast.” Topps made a show of checking out the ceiling, knocking on a couple of walls. “Not a bad house, but if my kids gonna be coming and going up in this muther, you need to be living better. Check this out. If you ever want to sell this dump, I’ll give you a hefty price. Enough to get you a new house that smells better.” Frowning, he sniffed a few times. “Smells like loneliness and mothballs in here. What you think?”
Hattie didn’t answer.
“Yeah. Just what I thought. You need some time to think that shit over, huh?”
Her front doorbell rang. It had to be the delivery boy with her grocery order.
Topps acted like he owned the place, the way he headed for the metal security door and greeted the delivery boy. “What’s up, my man? It’s all good. How much I owe you? You can sit those bags down by the door.”
He took a wad of cash from the pocket of his black sweatpants and peeled off two crisp hundred-dollar bills. “Keep the change, bro.”
Once the pimple-faced delivery boy was gone, Topps turned back to Hattie. “One last thing, ole woman. You mention this little visit to Neema and I’ll have to come back to see you. Maybe I can stay longer next time. Better yet, I might have to take my frustration out on Neema’s sweet little ass for bringing yo’ name up.”
Hattie waited until her security door banged shut, rushed over to it, and locked it. Frowning, she watched the monster walk to his big black vehicle, get in, and drive off.

TWO

“I said, c’mon now. I don’t have all day, Brandon. You get yourself up those steps now! You, too, Raynita.”
Neema Jean wiped beads of sweat from her honey-brown forehead as she stomped up the dusty, concrete steps to her mother’s house with her two kids in tow. It had to be over ninety-nine degrees in the shade; add a summer breeze and it felt like she was inside somebody’s new convection oven. She used the ball of her fist to bang hard on the metal security screen door.
“Who is it?”
“Who you think it is?” Neema was surprised to find the door locked. In no time her mother was at the door unlocking it, then ambling back to her seat. Neema marched inside after her children. The heavy door banged shut behind her.
“Lock my door,” Hattie ordered.
Neema made a face. “Why? You ain’t been locking it.”
“Neema, I said, lock my door behind you.”
“Whatever.” Neema stood and blew out a weary breath. “Mama, can you watch my kids for a few hours?”
The Compton house was almost as suffocating as the August heat outside, only adding to her irritation. She fanned her face and looked around, like she was expecting her sister Myra to be lingering in the house someplace. Myra was always around, brown-nosing.
“Mama! I said, I need someone to watch my kids. I can’t find a job if I don’t have no babysitter.” Remembering to pout, Neema rolled her big brown eyes and folded her arms over her ample chest.
Hattie rocked a few times in her new La-Z-Boy chair. A recent gift for her forty-ninth birthday, it was the nicest piece of furniture gracing her living room. She was still a little upset about that fool, Topps, popping up at her house, but didn’t dare bring it up. Topps could make a believer out of Satan. If she mentioned his threatening visit, there was zero doubt that he would take it out on Neema. Even worse, possibly even take it out on the kids.
“Hi, Nanny.” Raynita waved her little hand.
“Hey, baby. How y’all doing?” Hattie barely blinked in Neema’s direction as she reached over to click on her tabletop fan. Cool air, mixed with heat, ruffled the hem of her thin housedress. “Come give Nanny a hug.”
The heat was enough to fight the devil, but Hattie remained unfazed. Surely she hadn’t been foolish enough to think a Saturday would slip by without Neema contacting her in need of something.
“Mama!” Neema stomped her foot. “I know you hear me talkin’ to you.”
“Not really,” Hattie said calmly, picking up a magazine to fan her face. “Child, I feel too blessed to be stressed today.”
Thank God, she had a high tolerance for drama; especially when it came to her youngest child, Neema Jean. “Drama” should have been Neema’s middle name. Hattie kept her eyes trained on her television set where Soul Train was on. The volume was lowered to a comfortable level. The sight of smiling faces and young bodies gyrating to music made her wish for younger days when no one used to barge into her home with demands.
“Humph,” she said aloud. Neema Jean knew better than to disturb her during one of her favorite programs.
“Mama, I need you to watch my kids!”
“Neema, I heard you the first time. You need to calm down and stop all that shouting up in my house. ’Bout to give me a headache.”
Neema Jean frowned. “Well?” she prompted with clear anguish in her voice. She assumed her ready-to-do-battle pose: eyes hard and locked, a hand to one hip. “Why you acting like you don’t hear me then? You watching ’em or not?”
“Not with that attitude, I’m not.”
Hattie barely looked up, almost as if a herd of wild horses through her living room couldn’t deter her attention. A smile tugged at her thin lips as she recalled a time when she could move her body like Soul Train dancers. Heck, she thought, I still got a few good moves at forty-nine. The thought made her grin.
“I told you, I have a job interview, Mama. You keep saying how I need to be independent and how I need my own job, but what I’m s’pose to do with these kids?” Neema made a gesture with her hand, before staring in the direction of her children. Six-year-old Raynita and seven-year-old Brandon stood quietly next to the faded-blue sofa. “Y’all put them backpacks down.”
“What for, Neema? They’ll be leaving right back out with you.” Hattie shot her full attention to her daughter. Neema Jean was her youngest of two; the spoiled one; the one that often behaved like the world and everyone in it owed her something. Frankly, after twenty-three years of that girl’s selfish and demanding behavior, Hattie was sick of it. “Nee, you should have thought about all that when you was laying up making them babies.”
“Does that mean you watching my kids or not?”
“You figure it out.”
Hattie sniffed. Darn if that girl wasn’t the spitting image of her father, Bomann. So much, in fact, that sometimes it pained Hattie to glance at her. It made it difficult to forget that six years ago, Bo had walked out on their marriage, claiming that he needed time to find himself. Just up and walked away from twenty-nine years of marriage and two kids like it had meant nothing. Well, not small kids, but grown girls that still needed parental guidance; especially their youngest, Neema. The last Hattie had heard, Bo was living somewhere in Louisiana with a thirty-year-old female, drinking heavily, doing drugs, and still trying to “find himself.”
“Tried to tell you that you weren’t ready for kids at sixteen, but you wouldn’t listen. Heck, you still need some rearing yourself.”
“Well, it’s too late to be saying stuff like that, Mama. They here now, so we have to deal with it. You gonna watch ’em?”
“We?” Hattie huffed.
“I said, are you watching ’em, Mama?”
“Lord, why me?” Hattie gazed upward and sighed. To have the luxury of sitting in her own house with total peace and quiet, alone; that’s all she really desired. “Nee, how many times I have to tell you that I’m not your readymade, instant babysitter? Don’t get me wrong here. I love them babies as much as you do, but heck, they spend more time here with me than they do with you. Yeah, I took an early retirement from my job, but that don’t mean I need you to give me a second career. I’m tired.”
“Mama, I’m tired, too.” Neema rolled her eyes and admired her recently done nails. “Tired of being broke. I don’t have nobody else. Daycare costs money that I don’t have ’cause I don’t have no job. You they grandmother. Why can’t you watch ’em while I go see about a job? You ain’t doing nothing.”
Hattie counted down from ten before responding. Three, two, one. “That’s beside the point. And you watch yo’ mouth; talking to me like that. You need to get on outta here with that craziness.”
“What? You want me to beg?”
Neema went around and stood in front of the television. Her red satin dress and black Jimmy Choo stilettos were one big blur to Hattie’s eyes and reeked of everything but a job interview. She could be such a pretty girl, but her ugly ways blocked it. Neema looked more like Beyonce with a bad weave and a bad attitude.
“I said no.” Her blood pressure was rising. Hattie could always tell when the twitching of a headache began at her temples. She shook her head. “Lord, this child is going to be the death of me.”
You would think that after raising two girls, dealing with a job she had hated for twenty-five years, not to mention a marriage that had turned loveless, she had paid her dues. But no. People still expected things; someone to sponge off, someone to clean up behind them, someone to cook for them, and someone, always, someone to watch their kids at the drop of a hat. Hell, no. She wasn’t having it.
Her girlfriend had been right about being too available for her grown offspring. If Jackie had gotten her way, they both would have been cruising the high seas, sipping on apple martinis, and making goo-goo eyes at younger men. Placing her glass down, Hattie leaned to the side, attempting to look around her daughter’s shapely frame. “Whoever heard of job hunting on a Saturday? Move out the way, Neema! You must think I tumbled off the turnip truck.”
“Dang, Mama.” Neema Jean sauntered over and flung herself down on the sofa. “You always do this to me.”
“And what would that be?”
“Give me a hard time,” Neema whined, then pouted like an eight-year-old. “You never do it to Myra when it comes to watching her kids. Never.”
“Neema Jean, please.” Hattie sighed, feeling exhausted. She knew it was only a matter of time before Neema started her whining. Whining, plotting, begging, lying, stealing, and scheming: These were her daughter’s best qualities. Sometimes it was hard to believe that she had raised both girls in the church.
“Don’t go blaming your sister because she takes care of business.” Myra was five years older, married to a doctor, and ran her own pet-grooming business. Neema was more like her father; spoiled, lazy and always looking for the easy way to get ahead. “And speaking of Myra, you need to ask her to watch the kids for you. Don’t you know how to do it? You babysit for her; she babysit for you. I’m sorry, but I’m not up to it this weekend. I need some rest.”
“Mama, pleeeaassse,” Neema whined, short of crying.
“Neema, I already said no. Now stop harassing me.”
Hattie wasn’t falling for it this time. No sirree. The last time Neema had claimed that she was going to look for a job on a Monday, she didn’t return for six days. Six whole days! Hattie hardly slept for worrying about the girl’s whereabouts. Not only that, but Neema Jean’s careless disregard had caused her to miss an important doctor’s appointment. Hattie would never understand how a woman could abandon her children for days at a time without so much as a phone call to check up on them. Interview, my foot.
“Bet you wouldn’t treat Myra like this.”
“Myra got sense enough to hire a babysitter; instead of lying to me about where she’s going.” If anything, this so-called job interview was nothing more than a ploy for Neema to go lay up somewhere with Topps. Topps Jackson was nothing but trouble with legs and, in Hattie’s opinion, entirely wrong for Neema. Her daughter could have done so much better, but repeating that wisdom to Neema had become futile. “Take ’em to their father. Let him watch ’em.”
“He can’t. He’s off on business.”
“I bet he is.” The business of harassing good Christian folks. She resisted bringing up Topps’ earlier visit.
Neema sighed. “Mama, don’t start that mess about Topps. He’s a fantastic father and you know it.”
Hattie bit her tongue lightly. “Try asking your sister to watch the kids.”
“You know it’s over an hour drive to Myra’s house.”
“And it’s a nice day for a long drive. Nee, stop making excuses.”
“Fine, Mama! I guess I can’t go to the damn interview then!” Like a spoiled child, Neema huffed and hopped up. She blew out a hard breath before stomping off in the direction of the small bathroom and then slammed the door.
“Well, you wanted to be a mother, so be one,” Hattie mumbled, then shouted in the direction of the closed bathroom door. “And don’t be slamming no doors in my house or using that kind of language with me! You not that damn grown!”
Smiling, Hattie went back to her program. Happy people with smiling faces were dancing to “Blow the Whistle” by Too Short. “I’m the one that shoulda never had kids,” she mumbled as she picked up her chilled lemonade and took a sip. She glanced over at her grandchildren, who hadn’t said another peep the entire time. They were standing like stiff, brown trees next to her loveseat.
As much as she hated to admit it, Brandon carried that same handsome hardness of his father. A head full of curly, black hair; piercing dark eyes; the same strong jaw line. Raynita, on the other hand, was the spitting image of Neema Jean with her honey-hued complexion, thin lips, and large brown eyes. A smile could bring the deepest dimples to her plump cheeks. Poor things.
“Nita, why you over there looking so sad?” It was cute, the way Neema kept the child’s hair in neat cornrows with colorful beads dangling from the ends. Their shoes and outfits looked expensive, making them well-dressed kids for a mother that didn’t have a job to speak of. “You two look hot and hungry. How ’bout some cold milk and some of Nanny’s homemade cookies?”
Raynita’s eyes lit up. “Nanny, you have chocolate chip? They’re my favorite.”
“I don’t want no damn chocolate chips,” Brandon said with a scrunched-up face. “Peanut butter cookies taste better.”
“Boy, you watch your mouth before you get a bar of soap in it. You start that cussing in my house and the next thing you’ll be getting is a leather strap on your behind!”
“Hell, I didn’t want no stupid cookies anyway.” Brandon stuck his small chest out. “I hate chocolate chips.”
“Hey! I said, watch your mouth.” Good grief. Hattie got up and headed to her refrigerator for some cold milk. Raynita and Brandon followed behind her like puppies. She fetched her cookie jar down from the shelf. “I don’t have chocolate chip cookies, but I have oatmeal raisin with walnuts.”
Both kids took a seat at her table. The day before she’d baked two dozen cookies, knowing her grandkids would be back over soon enough. “You’ve tried the rest, now try Nanny’s best.”
She ignored Brandon’s tight lip at the mention of a leather strap. The child didn’t know it, but her words were mostly idle threats. The only time she had felt justified to take a belt to one of them was the day she had found Brandon hiding in one of her closets playing with matches. The little fool had almost set her house on fire.
“What about you, Brandon? You sure you don’t want some cookies?” Hattie took pride in her baking and often contributed her baked goods to various church functions.
The boy put his head down.
“Suit yourself then.”
No matter how much she tried to instill good morals into her grandchildren, the more it seemed like a losing battle. For a seven-year-old, Brandon knew more curse words than she did, and didn’t mind using them. Raynita, on the other hand, was plagued with sticky fingers. More times than she could recount, the girl had been reprimanded for stealing small trinkets from some local store. Hattie had to hide her purse when Raynita was in her house.
“Brandon, you sure you don’t want some cookies?”
Brandon glared at her with tight lips.
“Nanny, can I have some more?” Raynita asked, after woofing down two cookies and half a glass of cold milk.
“I said, I don’t want no stupid cookies. Stop punking me!”
“Punking? What? Boy, please. Honestly, you starting to act more like your father every time I see you. And don’t take that as a compliment.”
Brandon frowned up at her. “Don’t be talking about my daddy either.” He stood up with balled fists.
“Boy, I’m forty-nine years old and this is my house. I can talk about what I want.” Hattie fought the urge to laugh. In her heart, she knew that they were good kids, but she also knew their tendency for waywardness stemmed from a poor environment. The Crenshaw District, the area where Neema lived, was infested with people who had long given up on the idea of doing better. As a result, many lived in poverty, their normal lives filled with baby-making for a payday, prostitution, drugs and violence. “Is that how your mama teaches you to behave?” Her tone softened. “Nita, of course you can have more cookies.” Then to Brandon, “And you, young man, you need to work on your attitude. You hear me?”
Hattie was waiting for the boy to say something smart back when she heard her screen door being closed gently. Just one more sassy word from that boy’s mouth and she’d whack him one good time to show that she meant business. Next came the sound of a car engine starting up, and the peel of tires spitting dirt as they sped away.

THREE

“What?! I know that trifling Neema didn’t tip out my…” Hattie put her cookie jar down, hurried to her security door, and stepped outside in time to see Neema’s 2006 black Range Rover burning rubber away from the house.
“Neema! You get yourself back here right now! Neema!” Furious, Hattie tried running a few seconds behind the car, but it was hopeless; not to mention dangerous with all the heat. Besides, she didn’t see the sense of giving her nosey neighbors something to talk about. Her legs ached, and smoke and dust stung her eyes.
“Damn her!”
After a cloud of dust cleared, she pursed her lips and headed back to her house to discover Raynita and Brandon arguing over a cookie.
“Cut it out, you two.” Hattie went straight to her phone to call Neema’s cell phone. How dare she pull a kid-dumping stunt?
“It’s mine, give it back!” Raynita screamed, about to clobber her brother.
“Make me, ho.” Brandon was daring her with a clenched fist. A cookie was clutched in his other hand. “Don’t make me hurt you!”
Hattie hung the phone up and stared in disbelief. “Brandon! What’s wrong with you?” This wasn’t the first time she’d seen the two argue over something so trivial, but it was the first time she’d heard the boy call his sister a derogatory name. “Young man, I don’t know what your problem is, but we don’t talk like that in this house.”
The two were at her house a mere three days ago and Brandon had seemed fine. She couldn’t imagine what had transpired enough to change his attitude in such a short time frame.
“Nanny, he snatched my last cookie!” Raynita yelled loud enough for her neighbors to hear. “He’s always doing stuff. That’s why I hate him.”
“Alright, you two. Nita, you don’t hate your brother, and Brandon, if that’s her cookie, give it back.”
Brandon tossed the bitten-off cookie to the table. “Crybaby. That’s why I can’t stand you either. You nothing but a snitch. That’s why Daddy likes me better than you.”
“Brandon, stoppit! Nita is your baby sister and you’re supposed to look out for her.” Lord have mercy. This was exactly what she wasn’t in the mood for—kids bickering back and forth, and acting like baby hoodlums. “I don’t know what’s wrong with you, but I’m tired and it’s too hot for all this.” She loved her grandkids to the core, but sometimes, after spending a day or two with them, she was ready to yank out her own hair.
“I can’t stand her; that’s why.” Brandon looked ready to throw some blows.
“This is what happens when mothers spare the rod.” Neema was forever claiming that she was doing her best to provide structure and discipline for her offspring, but Hattie was having a hard time seeing the evidence..
Brandon yelled, “It’s too hot in here! I wanna go back to Daddy’s house. I didn’t wanna come to your stupid house no way.”
“Boy, what in the world has gotten into you?”
“I hate snitches; that’s what.”
“Brandon, you do not hate your sister.”
“I do so, and when I go live with my daddy, I won’t even miss her telling butt.”
“Umph.” Hattie shook her head as she sauntered back over to the cookie jar and removed a few. “I know your mama ain’t foolish enough to let you live with that man.” It was wrong to bad mouth Topps to their faces, but she couldn’t help how she felt. Topps was notorious for his gang affiliations and drug dealing. Maybe even a few murders. People talked and she’d heard enough. It was difficult to feel warmth about a man who had allowed his own mother to starve to death. “If you wanted some cookies, all you had to do was ask. Whatever has gotten into you, you need to control it while you’re at my house. You hear me, Brandon?”
His only reply was a stubborn pout.
Raynita talked with a mouth full of cookie. “Mama said he acting mannish ’cause he spent the night at Daddy’s house. She said Daddy musta let him do weeds or somethin’.”
It felt like Hattie’s heart thumped and skipped two beats. She patted her chest. “Is that true, Brandon? Your father let you try drugs?”
“I ain’t no snitch like Nita.”
“Little boy, please. Snitching is when you talk to the police. I asked you a question. Did your father let you do drugs?” Hattie waited with a hand on her hip. It was hard to keep her face from frowning. So help me to God, if Neema is allowing that man to abuse this child, I will go crazy on her behind! “You can tell Nanny the truth, Brandon.”
Every now and then, the boy spent time with his father, but each time he returned, there was a remarkable change in his behavior for days. He acted funny, looked funny, and walked funny. Heck, sometimes Hattie thought Brandon even smelled funny after such visits.
“Dang, Nanny, why you all up in my bizness?” Brandon wiped crumbs from his mouth with a paper towel before tossing it to the table. The tone of his young voice suggested irritation.
Hattie raised a brow. “Boy, at seven, you don’t have no business.” She couldn’t control her kids’ lives, but if she could convince Neema to move to a better environment, meet a nice young man and settle down, maybe Brandon and Raynita might have a chance. True, Topps Jackson was the children’s biological father, but it didn’t give him a right to exploit them. It also didn’t give him the right to contribute to their budding delinquency.
“I’ll just say this. Your father might be crazy, but I know he ain’t that crazy, to be letting you try drugs. I better not hear something like this again, I know that.”
“I said, it’s my bizness, Nanny. Know what I’m saying?”
Brandon looked upset enough to fight, but it didn’t stop Hattie. If there was something she needed to know, she planned to find out one way or another.
“That’s it. Maybe you need to take time out to work on your attitude. Get yourself on in that bedroom.”
For a few seconds, there was a stand-off, two contorted faces glaring. Hattie couldn’t believe how defiant the child was behaving. She must have been getting soft because when her own kids were coming up, it wouldn’t take much for her to go get a leather belt or a switch from her peach tree out back and get busy. “Did you hear me, Brandon?”
He still didn’t move.
Hattie stepped closer. “Boy, I am not playing with you. I said, get yourself into that bedroom. Now!”
Without another word, Brandon got up and stomped from the room.
“Lord, give me strength. I’m getting too old for this mess.” Hattie forced herself to calm down. “Nita, what’s your mama’s cell phone number? I have it around here somewhere, but don’t feel like searching for it.”
“Uh…I don’t know. She didn’t tell me her new number.”
“What new number?” Grandmother or not, she needed to find out when Neema would be picking the kids up. The sooner she came back, the sooner she could get back to her peaceful existence. “When did she get a new number?”
Raynita stuffed the last of her cookie into her mouth. “Daddy bought her a new phone yesterday. He took her old phone and threw it away. He bought me and Brandon a phone, too, but I think I lost mine. I don’t know Mama’s new number.”
“Oh, that’s just great.” Hattie blew out a weary breath. “No way to reach your mother in case of an emergency.” Hattie shook her head. She didn’t understand it. A lot of the young mothers of today were certainly a different breed from when she was coming up. “Oh, well…” She sighed. “Maybe she’ll call later tonight to check on you two.”
As much as she hated the idea of it, she would have to wait it out. Knowing Neema, it could be days before she even called to see what was going on. And then again, she might not call at all. Hattie knew one thing—when she did hear from that girl, she planned to have a serious talk with her about Brandon and his visits to his father’s house. Topps Jackson shouldn’t have been allowed to have unsupervised visitation with stray puppies. Neema would probably say it was none of her business how she raised her kids, but Hattie didn’t care. When it came to her grandkids, she planned to make it her business.

If you enjoyed this excerpt of Love Trumps Game, please purchase it at your local bookstore or purchase it online at: http://www.amazon.com/Love-Trumps-Game-D-Y-Phillips/dp/1593092709/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1247602015&sr=1-1

Excerpt from Pure Paradise by Allison Hobbs

2009-07-14T15:57:00.004-04:00

ZANE COMMENT

There is really not much more that I can say to praise Allison Hobbs. The fact that I have published more than ten titles by her says it all. If you are looking for the one woman on the planet who is actually freakier than me, Allison Hobbs is the one. If you have not read her books yet, you are really missing out. Read Pure Paradise and read all of her books. She is guaranteed to make you crave for more.

Blessings, Zane

BOOK DESCRIPTION

A deliciously decadent glimpse inside a day salon that also caters to the sexual fantasies of its affluent clientele.

Behind closed doors, the Pure Paradise salon secretly offers a more salacious menu of services for its discerning clients. While the company is raking in the dough, its proprietor Milan cultivates her own personal Rolodex of willing men and women who crave to indulge her most voracious desires. It would seem as if Milan has it all, but she wants more. For Milan, the ultimate catch would be the elusive Hilton Dorsey, an unreasonably handsome, former football player. But her relentless, irrational pursuit of the golden boy has caused Milan to neglect her financial benefactor, jeopardizing her budding empire. Will her obsession with Hilton Dorsey be her ultimate downfall? National bestselling author Allison Hobbs returns with another heart-thumping erotic adventure with Pure Paradise, a thrilling novel that caters to the sensual tastes of a diverse audience that is sure to leave readers begging for more.

EXCERPT OF PURE PARADISE by ALLISON HOBBS

CHAPTER 1

“What do you think? Do I look like a dominatrix?” Sumi asked Milan. Wearing thigh-high latex boots, a short black rubber dress with a zip-up front, and matching arm-length gloves, she held a black whip and struck a threatening pose. Sumi was an exceptional beauty, an exotic mix of Korean and Italian heritage. Her large doe-shaped eyes sparkled with sensuality. She twisted her pretty face into an exaggerated angry mask and cracked the whip.

Looking dangerously sexy, she wielded the whip like she was eager to thrash the crap out of a man and have him cowering and begging for mercy. Unwilling to admit that Sumi had captured the authentic look of a dominatrix, Milan gave her only a cursory glance. “You look cute,” Milan said with amusement in her tone.

“Cute?” Sumi questioned.

“It’s not Halloween, so what’s the deal? Did you get an invitation to a masquerade ball?” The thickly layered sarcasm was intended to let Sumi know that Milan refused to take her seriously.
Sumi’s red-painted lips turned down in disappointment. “Are you for real?” She glanced in the mirror and struck a pose. “I look hot.” Her words did not ring with conviction. “Don’t you think I look hot?”

Milan sneered. “I doubt that anyone would take you seriously enough to pay for your services. You look gorgeous. That dress is really sexy, but you’re not a convincing dominatrix.”

Sumi placed both hands on her hips, indignant.

“You are not a qualified dominatrix.” Milan went on, “so stop trying to add that to your job description. You’re my personal assistant and I want you to find a qualified person to do the job.”

“But you promised me the job—”

“That was pillow talk. I’m not responsible for the things I say when we’re in bed. Now, bring your sexy self over here and let me unzip that hooker dress.”

Sumi arched a brow. “Oh, now you’re calling me a ho?” There was more than a hint of defiance in her tone.

“If the shoe fits.” Ready to break the tension, Milan flung her a teasing smile. “Aw, don’t worry, Sumi. You’re not any ol’ ho—you’re my personal ho. Is that better?” Milan winked at her tauntingly.

Possessing a severe temper, Sumi stomped over to the bed where Milan lounged naked atop the satin sheets, waiting for her girl toy to join her. “I’m not your ho! I’m your lover. We’re in a relationship!”

Milan wanted to burst out laughing but Sumi was reaching her boiling point. And she was proficient in martial arts, so Milan switched to a placating tone. “Don’t I pay you a hefty salary?” she reminded her assistant. Sumi had not been a very good secretary—her typing skills were awful. Back when Milan merely managed Pure Paradise, Sumi was hired mainly as eye candy, a good advertisement. She was the look of perfection, sitting at her desk in an open area where potential clients could see her. Her exceptional beauty promised similar results to those willing to pay Pure Paradise’s steep prices.

When Milan became the owner, she’d elevated Sumi to the position of her personal assistant and Sumi had blossomed. She performed her numerous duties without complaint and with unfailing devotion. Now, she wanted to do more and Milan didn’t like it.

“Sure, you pay me a good salary, but I work very hard, so don’t insinuate that you’re giving me a handout.” Sumi was hurt, and her voice took on a higher pitch. “Every week I put in sixty hours or more and I never request overtime.”

Milan sucked her teeth. Screw Sumi and her freakin’ martial arts. She was taking her tirade much too far. “If you dared to ask for overtime, I’d fire you on the spot. I elevated you from a lowly secretary to your current prestigious position. You’re earning four times the amount you made before I took over Pure Paradise.”

Sumi shot a glance at the whip she still held, which made Milan feel a bit uneasy. “You practically run Pure Paradise! I allow you to strut around barking orders at the staff as if you were the actual owner of my establishment. What else could you possibly hope for?” She’d intended for her words to make Sumi melt but now Sumi was huffing and puffing, angrier than ever.

“I want respect. I’m doing the job of three people and I do it for you. I do it because I love you, Milan.”

What’s love got to do with it! Milan felt like belting out that old Tina Turner song but she couldn’t sing and Sumi didn’t have a sense of humor. It was sad but true; Sumi was confusing good sex with love. Though the moment was awkward, Milan wanted some of Sumi’s fabulous sex right now, so she forced her mouth to curl into what she thought would imitate a loving smile. “Unzip that dress, sexy, and bring your cute ass over here.”

Disappointment dimmed the playful sparkle that had shone in Sumi’s eyes when she first demonstrated her ability to crack a whip. “I’m not unzipping shit,” Sumi said with saucy impudence. “Why do you get such malicious pleasure from treating me like a plaything? I’m not your toy.”

Yes, you are! You’re my prized sex toy, my precious Sumi-toy! Milan was tempted to say, but she didn’t dare utter her inner thoughts while Sumi had hold of that damned whip.

Using amazing cunt tricks, Sumi had catered to Milan’s freakish desires, and had become a human replacement for Milan’s entire collection of battery-operated pleasure providers. She didn’t need them anymore. Sumi could get Milan off faster and with stronger eruptions than even her expensive, gold-plated fuck-buddy. And Sumi didn’t have to rely on a synthetic strap-on phallus to make Milan cum. She could do things with her cute little cunt that drove Milan to the brink of madness.

But the pretty little thing was so sensitive, Milan knew better than to piss her off by telling her to her face that she was nothing more than a sex toy. Sumi’s temper along with her Asian pride made her unpredictable. She was apt to fly off the handle and karate chop all Milan’s exquisite bedroom furniture. Knowing Sumi the way she did, it wouldn’t surprise her if the girl quit on the spot if Milan insulted her by calling her a “Sumi-toy.” Milan frowned as she was struck by the realization that it would be very difficult to replace her sexy Sumi.

With a placating smile, she gently grasped Sumi’s wrist and pulled her closer to the bed. “I’m sorry.” Milan tugged her wrist until Sumi dropped the whip and started unzipping, displaying pert breasts and a curvy petite body.

Sumi’s mons pubis, covered by a layer of jet black silky hair, was an alluring sight, causing Milan to unconsciously lick her lips.

Sumi bent and peeled down the top of her right boot. “Keep them on,” Milan insisted. She didn’t feel like waiting for her assistant to struggle out of the skin-tight boots. Besides, Sumi looked hot with the boots on.

Propping herself up on an elbow, Milan tugged Sumi forward until Sumi’s crotch was flush with her face. Playfully, Milan blew out a stream of cooling breath, blowing Sumi’s silken pubic hairs, making them flutter and lift until they parted and an olive-colored nub poked through.

Mmm. Milan’s mouth and her pussy started watering at the same time.

Flicking her tongue against Sumi’s little clit, she slowly broke her assistant’s resolve. She sucked softly, relishing the taste and texture as much as Sumi enjoyed getting her clit sucked. Milan sank her tongue into Sumi’s pot of tangy spice, which had a zesty bite that left a pleasant ginger-honey aftertaste. She ate Sumi’s pussy until Sumi was sufficiently stimulated.

It was her turn now. Milan lay flat on her back. Sumi climbed on top of her, fitting her petite body against Milan’s and running her hands along Milan’s lean mocha-colored limbs.

Milan grasped the sides of Sumi’s face and pulled her mouth to hers. Sumi closed her eyes blissfully as Milan slid her tongue between her lips, sharing the ginger-honey flavor.

Moaning, Sumi responded to Milan’s pussy-flavored kiss with slow gyrations and soft pelvic thrusts. With each thrust, Milan’s legs spread a little wider, giving Sumi more access to her opened treasure chest.

“Fuck me,” Milan murmured.

Lifting up, Sumi gazed at her lovingly as she stroked the bushy hair that covered Milan’s mons. She parted Milan’s pussy lips and toggled her clit until it moistened, became engorged, and darkened to a deeper hue. Sumi was gearing up for the good part.

Milan inhaled deeply as she readied herself. Sumi’s pussy tricks gave a stiff dick some hellified competition.

She straddled Milan, her silky snatch brushing against Milan’s bushy forest. Sumi aligned her parted pussy with Milan’s sensitive clit, and then sank down, clamping her tight pussy muscles around Milan’s swelling pleasure bud.

Each pussy bite from Sumi was thrillingly electrical. Sumi would soon take her over the edge. Milan had her share of sexual experiences with other women, but the pussy she’d been acquainted with couldn’t compare to Sumi’s. Milan had no idea how Sumi had trained her pussy to snap the way it did. Maybe it was all that exercising and martial arts training that made Sumi’s cunt so unusually agile, like a pair of lips, only tighter and with more grip.

With blissful expectation, Milan took in a deep breath. Using rapid vaginal clenching, Sumi’s strong cunt muscles seized Milan’s taut clit, tightening and then releasing, taking a series of nibbling pussy bites that stimulated Milan’s hot spot better than a mechanical device.

Milan shuddered and bit down on her bottom lip, bracing herself for the inevitable torrent of hot sexual release.

“Wait! Please, Sumi! Don’t make me cum yet!” Temporarily out of her mind with sexual tension, Milan was not too proud to beg.

Once the pleading began, the tables turned in Sumi’s favor. On top, her expression confident, Sumi lowered her head. “Kiss me, bitch.”

Helplessly, Milan sought Sumi’s lips; all the while frantically twisting her hips, silently pleading for more tantalizing pussy bites.

“You need my cunt, don’t you, bitch?” Sumi demanded angrily, nostrils flaring.

“Yes!” Milan gave a cry of agonized joy. Her hand touched the small of Sumi’s back, pressing her small breasts against her own. Their peaked nipples rubbed together, creating more excitement and friction. Sumi fastened her walls even tighter around Milan’s protrusive sex organ, making it throb, making Milan gasp with pleasure.

“Slow down, I don’t want to cum. Not yet,” Milan said, her voice hoarse with passion. But her body movements spoke otherwise. Undulating, she lifted up and then ground her distended female organ even deeper into Sumi’s extraordinary pussy.

Dispensing vicious cunt snaps, Sumi pulled and twisted Milan’s pearl of passion,, giving her pleasure so unbearable, Milan had to bite down on her bottom lip to keep from screaming.
Sumi palmed Milan’s taut buttocks, pulling her closer, intensifying the pussy friction as she fucked Milan senseless. “I don’t like sharing you and I shouldn’t have to. Nobody can fuck you like I do. That pussy is mine. All mine!”

Having Milan at a sexual disadvantage, Sumi put her in an awkward position. “You know how much I love you, Milan. Why can’t you love me back?” Her expression was a blend of lust, love, and sorrow. Lust, the dominant emotion, was spectacularly expressed as she clenched and grinded against Milan’s feminine region. With her swiftly rotating hips, her snapping pussy pulling on Milan’s engorged clit, Sumi demanded, “Do you love me?”

Milan was out of her mind with passion and willing to say anything to keep Sumi giving up the cunt. “Yes, I love you. You know I do,” she whispered. Milan felt confused by her own words, unable to distinguish fact from fiction. She actually felt something close to love as an orgasm pulsed through her. But survival had also kicked in. If she didn’t return Sumi’s declaration of love, the little hothead was apt to hop off her pussy, throw on her clothes, and storm out into the night, leaving Milan hanging in an awful state of sexual duress.

Holding Sumi and pressing her down, assisting her in using her hot-red snapper to get a tighter grip on her own peaked flesh, Milan’s could feel a fiery sensation, simmering at first, and then burning wildly through her lower region. She squeezed Sumi’s delicate shoulders, quivering and moaning as she convulsed and then exploded.

Keeping up her rhythm, Sumi kept winding her awesome little body until she joined Milan in soul-shuddering ecstasy.

Finally catching her breath, Milan smiled sardonically and stroked Sumi’s silky hair. “You’re getting out of hand, Sumi,” Milan whispered, her voice raspy with residual lust. She pulled Sumi’s silky hair hard enough to inflict pain and to remind her who had the real control in their relationship.

“Ow! Stop, I hate that rough stuff.” Sumi rolled her eyes and then began to sulk, begrudgingly relinquishing the power to Milan.

Back in full control of her sanity, Milan gave Sumi’s hair another yank. “Ow!” Sumi screamed and moved away from Milan’s reach. “I’m going home,” she spat.

“Go! I got what I wanted,” Milan fired back.”

“You’re such a bitch. I hate you.” She leapt from the bed and grabbed the dominatrix dress.

“I thought you loved me.” Milan laughed tauntingly while Sumi angrily pulled on the dress and yanked the zipper up. With her head tilted in thought, Milan watched Sumi. She seriously had to figure out a way to get more control of her hot-tempered assistant. Clearly, the surly little sexpot needed a few lessons in obedience training. Milan had tried and tried to break Sumi’s will, but she had only a loose grasp on the spitfire. Thank goodness she usually had sense enough to placate the pussy-snapping hussy until she gave Milan the blood-rushing climaxes she craved.
Sumi stormed out of Milan’s bedroom and stomped down the long corridor. Milan jumped out of bed and ran behind Sumi. “Sumi,” she yelled. Sumi turned around, her expression hopeful.

“You forgot something!” Milan tossed the black whip at her and slammed her bedroom door.

CHAPTER 2

Pure Paradise Day Spa with its enchanting ambience—handpicked flowers, potted foliage, tinkling music, flickering candlelight, and intoxicatingly fragrant scents that wafted throughout the establishment—appeared to live up to its name. Swathed in comfy robes and slippers, the clientele looked pampered and relaxed. They milled about, sipping mimosas or herbal tea as they waited to be indulged with a Chocolate-Bliss facial, a sea kelp body massage, hot stone therapy, hydrotherapy, waxing, manicures, pedicures, or any of the numerous services offered.
On a lower level, private fantasy theme rooms equipped with costumes and props were provided for couples. A fantasy session was ridiculously costly, but affluent patrons didn’t mind spending big bucks to indulge their freaky imaginations.

In a separate room on the lower floor, Milan Walden, owner of Pure Paradise, greeted prospective clients, a husband and wife, with a very tight smile. Compared to her lavish office suite upstairs, the consultation room was rather smallish. She felt boxed in and out of her element in the modestly furnished office. Actually, Sumi should have been interviewing this couple, but Sumi was visiting a local dungeon, observing Mistress Veronique, a premier dominatrix, at work. If the woman was as cruel and intimidating as reputed, Sumi was to offer her a contract to work as a consultant at Pure Paradise.

Milan sighed. She needed two assistants. No, strike that. The way her business was booming, she needed three or four assistants. Sumi was not going to like sharing the power, but she’d just have to deal with it. The poor dear was being stretched to capacity as it was, and business was suffering. Milan corrected her thought. No, business wasn’t suffering…Milan was. She absolutely despised having to interact with clients.

Yet matters of a sexual nature were too delicate to be handled by any staff member other than Sumi. Admittedly, her assistant was good at her job—so good, she thought she was capable of taking on the additional job title of “in-house” dominatrix. What a laugh. Sumi didn’t have any real power. Milan allowed her assistant to execute her precise orders: reprimanding, hiring, and firing on Milan’s behalf. But the girl didn’t have a dominant bone in her cute little body. What a pity.

Lately, Sumi had started behaving like a diva. Milan didn’t like her assistant’s new attitude, so today she’d sent Sumi on a mission that would give her a badly needed reality check. After observing an authentic dominatrix at work, with her foot pressed down on a naughty slave’s neck, Sumi would come to her senses and realize she was too delicate to really crack a whip. Sumi needed to get rid of that latex dress, the boots, and the whip and devote all her attention and concentration on angling her snapping pussy around Milan’s ripened clit.

She was suddenly struck with a brilliant idea, a scheme that would put Sumi in her place. Milan shook her head, marveling at her own sheer genius. She gazed at the paperwork and then returned her attention to the oddly paired couple who sat on the other side of the rather ordinary desk. The plain oak desk made her yearn for her custom- designed power desk. Her desk screamed success! Made of six different types of exotic wood, it cost seventy-two thousand dollars—as much as some people spent on a luxury car. It was a spectacular piece of furniture and was most fitting for an extraordinary woman such as herself.

Milan glanced at her surroundings and wrinkled her nose. As soon as she got rid of this bothersome pair, she’d make a mad dash to her elegant office suite.

The wife, an attractive, slim blonde, had a snooty air about her and she had irked Milan on sight. She looked to be in her late twenties, professionally attired in pearls and a nicely cut business suit. The husband, on the other hand, swarthy with a big belly, was considerably older than his wife. Additionally, he had the unpolished look of a laborer and wore a T-shirt bearing the logo of a roofing company. The man was totally icky!

“Well, it looks like everything is in order,” Milan said, looking down at the paper work on the desk. “You’ve passed our requirements with flying colors.” She didn’t smile and maintained a business-like demeanor, sitting erect with her lips pursed, her eyes intense, her expression serious. She found the ill-matched couple nauseating and couldn’t muster any more than the same tight smile. “So…which fantasy interests you?”

“I own a roofing company. There’s good money in roofing, but I have to put in a lot of ridiculously long hours—”

Do I look like I give a shit? “And your point is?” Agitated, Milan glanced down at the application again. “Mr. Tamburro,” she said with a sigh.

“I’m getting to the point,” the husband said brusquely.

Milan searched the wife’s face, hoping for some type of intervention, but the wife squirmed and refused to meet Milan’s agitated gaze.

“I put my wife through six years of college,” the husband went on. “She has a master’s degree in business. I don’t claim to be a scholar, but I make a lot more money than she’ll ever dream of earning.” Mr. Tamburro looked at his attractive wife with contempt. The wife gave Milan a “See what I have to put up with” look, which Milan chose to ignore.

Mr. Tamburro would be footing the bill for the couples’ fantasy so Milan decided to reserve her attention for him.

“You’ve looked over the brochures,” Milan said with a sigh. Her patience was dwindling quickly. “Have you made a selection?”

A crimson shade of rage suddenly tinged Mr. Tamburro’s olive complexion. Clutching the glossy brochures, he blurted, “My bitch of a wife cheated on me! Not once…but twice…and with her co-workers.” He glared at his wife. “Seems she’s developed the hots for the suit-and-tie type. I’m not good enough for her anymore.”

“That’s not true,” Mrs. Tamburro whined.

Milan waved her hand, cutting off the adulterous wife and returning her attention to the bill-footing husband. “Is that what you’d like—a fantasy that involves wearing a suit and tie?”

Keeping the annoyance out of her tone was difficult. She’d given the couple a brochure with every fantasy Pure Paradise offered. She hadn’t anticipated taxing her brain to come up with an impromptu suit-and-tie fantasy session for the kooky couple.

”Hell no! I want her to get a sound spanking for cheating on me.” He rolled his eyes at his wife. The wife tried to maintain an impassive expression but couldn’t. Cringing with embarrassment, she dropped her gaze. Her cheeks took on a pink tint.

“Oh!” Milan perked up. “Well, you’ll be delighted to know we have a special room for corporal punishment. It’s equipped with an array of thrashing devices from paddles and hair brushes to whips and canes. I’ll just need you both to sign a consent form.” She pushed the consent form across the desk.

“Not so fast. There’s a slight hitch.” Mr. Tamburro’s angry expression changed to embarrassment. “I can’t do the spanking.” He cast a warm gaze toward his wife. “I love my wife. Besides, I wasn’t raised to mistreat or put my hands on a woman. I behave like a gentleman even when my wife takes it upon herself to carouse around like a stinking whore.”

Milan sighed in exasperation. “Okay, if you’re not in the mood for a paddling session, which fantasy interests you?” She spoke through gritted teeth. Pure Paradise offered a vast array of sex services but she’d be damned if she’d waste her breath with a high-spirited sales pitch. She would have never allowed the couple in the consultation room had she known they had yet to select a service.

It was obvious that the communication at Pure Paradise was badly flawed. But not for long. Milan would start interviewing new assistants immediately. She’d hire as many as she thought necessary to ensure Pure Paradise operated smoothly. Sumi would just have to get over herself and deal with some competition.

Milan stood. “Why don’t you two go home and look over the brochures again. When you’ve made a decision, call Sumi Cranston, my assistant.” She forced a smile and cut a dismissive glance toward the door.

“I’ve made up my mind and I’m prepared to pay in advance,” Mr. Tamburro said, leaning forward as he pulled his wallet out of a back pocket. He whipped out a credit card.

Milan ignored his offer of payment. She remained standing, hinting that the interview was over. “Mr. Tamburro. I’m a busy woman. You and Mrs. Tamburro should go home and discuss the service that suits your needs.”

“I already told you. My wife needs a good spanking.” He looked at his wife for confirmation. Wearing an expression that looked as pained as if she were being flogged at that very moment, the wife gave a curt nod.

“Like I said, I’m too much of a gentleman to hit my wife, but I’m willing to pay top dollar to get the job done.”

The wife gasped. Suddenly interested, Milan jerked her head toward the husband. “You want someone else to do your dirty work?”

Looking embarrassed, he nodded.“I’ll have to bring in a trained master and that will double the cost.”

“Not a problem,” Mr. Tamburro said.

“Honey,” the wife whined, her eyes wide. “I think we should discuss this matter privately.”

“My mind is made up,” he barked at his wife. “Either you get your tail whipped or go get yourself a lawyer.”

It was an unusual request. Most couples used the themed rooms that were listed in the brochure. They enjoyed experimenting with the equipment to indulge their perverted fantasies. She could have turned down Mr. Tamburro’s request, but Milan was eager for the challenge.
She cleared her throat. “Mr. Tamburro,” she said softly, “we offer several choices…” The husband nodded for Milan to continue. “There’s verbal humiliation with a light thrashing—a sort of erotic spanking, which is what I recommend—”

“What else do you offer?” he eyed Milan intently.

“Well…” Milan took an excited breath as she struggled to contain her own sexual arousal. The topic was quite stimulating and had her juices flowing. “We also offer a more harsh punishment. Your cheating spouse would be bare-assed and given a severe spanking.” Mr. Tamburro’s face lit with interest.

“You should be aware that a severe spanking will leave residual welts and bruising,” Milan said casually, though her mind was racing to come up with a more sadistic form of punishment. And there was a problem.

She didn’t have a trained master. All her employees were certified in massaging, aromatherapy, polishing toenails, and all sorts of therapies that didn’t meet Mr. Tamburro’s requirements. Hopefully, Sumi would get Mistress Veronique to sign the contract. If the woman was a true dominatrix she would be willing to dispense punishment to women as well as men.

The husband sat on the edge of the chair, rubbing his chin excitedly. “I want her to get a harsh spanking,” he said, nodding and looking vindicated. “The full treatment! Whatever it costs, I’m willing to pay.”

The wife jerked back, gawking at her husband. Her words came out in a sputter. “I’m not, uh, sure about this. We really have to talk.”

Milan ignored her. “Would you like to sit in on the session, Mr. Tamburro?” A devilish smile played on Milan’s lips.

“I sure would!” he exclaimed as he gleefully rubbed his hands together. The wife groaned. A sudden shadow fell over the husband’s face. “No. I couldn’t just sit back and watch while some sadistic fella beat the crap out of my wife.”

The wife brightened perceptibly.

Milan shrugged. “I was actually going to have a woman spank your wife. A skilled dominatrix.”

“A woman!” Mr. Tamburro reared back and snorted in disapproval. “What kind of pain could a woman inflict? If I’m going to spend top dollar for punishment, I want my money’s worth. I want a man to beat her. A big black buck!” he added and glared at his wife.

Where the hell would she find a big black buck who was a trained master? Gerard, her former trainer, came to mind, and she instantly tried to dismiss him from her thoughts but couldn’t.
At Milan’s insistence, Gerard’s benefactor, the evil Mistress Ming, had been financially crushed. Ming’s illegal “training center,” along with her wealthy husband’s chain of fitness centers had been gobbled up by one of Maxwell Torrance’s corporations. Maxwell Torrance, billionaire and tycoon, was Milan’s personal sex slave.

Maxwell had put Ming out of business, sent her packing. Milan felt a shiver of delight imagining the arrogant hussy back in China, living in poverty. Stripped of her jewels and couture wardrobe, and all her money, Ming was hopefully working her fingers to the bone in some rice field. Though Milan had no idea what had become of Ming, imagining the evil wench sweating as she toiled for a few coins was a delicious fantasy.

Gerard? He was most likely still in the States. Oddly, her heart didn’t race. She was over Gerard. Her heart was set on someone else—and once again, the man she’d set her sights on was playing hard to get. Milan sighed. She sure knew how to pick them.

Returning her thoughts to the present dilemma, she smiled at the couple. “Mr. and Mrs. Tamburro, as you know, Pure Paradise has designed numerous couples’ fantasies, but we’re flexible and are fully capable of tailoring a program that meets your needs. Don’t worry, Mr. Tamburro, you don’t have to go in the room with your wife. You don’t even have to accompany your wife here. I understand your unwillingness to view her chastisement firsthand, but might I suggest that you accept the complimentary DVD of her punishment session? I highly recommend that you and your wife view the DVD together, and often. Reliving the pain and humiliation repeatedly should discourage your cheating wife from engaging in future adulterous affairs.” Milan amazed herself with her brilliant creativity. Feeling proud of the sales pitch that she made up as she went along, Milan beamed at the married couple.

The wife cringed with horror.

“Oh, boy. That sounds like a winner,” Mr. Tamburro gushed, jubilant. “I’ll get a lot of pleasure watching the DVD with her.” He scratched his head. “How many times should we watch it?”
“Every night before sex,” Milan responded quickly.

“We don’t have sex every night,” Mrs. Tamburro stated, balking at the idea.

“It’s not too late to start. This woman here…” he pointed to Milan. “She’s a sex therapist and she knows what she’s talking about.”

Sex therapist! Sounds good to me. “You absolutely need to have intercourse with your wife on a daily basis, but without tenderness,” she cautioned, taking her new title seriously.

“You hear that, hon? I don’t want to hear anything about headaches or any talk about your menstrual cycle. No excuses. I want my daily ration of sex without a word of complaint.”

“Oh, fabulous,” the wife said sarcastically.

To Milan’s satisfaction, the deal was about to be sealed. She bestowed Mr. Tamburro with her most winning smile. “Sign right here.” She pointed to the lines marked with an X and sat down as the husband perused the form. He affixed his signature and then handed the pen to his wife.
Picturing the prissy Mrs. Tamburro getting her ass spanked made Milan terribly horny. The unmistakable twitching between her legs was getting stronger and more demanding by the second. She needed to get rid of the Tamburro’s and take care of her personal situation. “We can accommodate you next Wednesday at two.”

The wife consulted her BlackBerry and frowned. “I have an important meeting on that date. Do you have another opening—can you fit me in after five?” Her trembling tone pleaded for a different time slot.

“There you go…putting that friggin’ job before our marriage.” Mr. Tamburro gave his wife a stern look. “Listen up, Mrs. Cheater, I want you to cancel that meeting and get your buns over here at two o’clock on the dot. If you can’t make it, well, I guess I’ll see you in divorce court. I’m serious. Our prenup protects my money. You won’t get one single dollar. Let’s see how far you get with your measly salary.” He sneered at his wife and then looked at Milan. “Her job is nothing but show,” he said to Milan. “With all those degrees I paid for, she still doesn’t earn the kind of money she enjoys spending.” He poked himself in the chest. “I’m a wealthy man, but I don’t have to wear fancy clothes to broadcast how much I’m worth.”

At the mention of the prenuptial agreement, Milan felt an uncharacteristic stab of sympathy for the wife. Over a year ago, she experienced the humiliation of being forced to sign an outrageous prenup and could relate to Mrs. Tamburro’s dilemma. But that was all behind Milan. She’d come out on top. Now large and in charge, Milan defied anyone to try to tell her what to do. She owed a thriving business and, as shocking as it seemed, she had billionaire business tycoon Maxwell Torrance by the balls. Literally. She owned the man. She made him wear an engraved collar of ownership as proof.

Nothing had been handed to her. Unlike Mrs. Tamburro, Milan had overcome many obstacles to get to her station in life. Withdrawing her sympathy, she turned cold eyes toward the wife. “Do you agree to the two o’clock appointment?”

Tears clouded Mrs. Tamburro’s eyes. She turned to her husband. “I don’t think this is necessary. I’ve learned my lesson. Please, sweetheart.”

“It’s your choice…take the whipping or we’re getting a divorce.” Mr. Tamburro was adamant.
Resignedly, Mrs. Tamburro nodded. The husband gave Milan a conspiratorial wink and then tried to hand Milan his credit card. Milan recoiled as if handling the payment process would tarnish her. “Pay at the front desk, please,” she said with a grimace.

The moment the couple left the consultation room, Milan picked up the phone and called security.

“Royce, there’s an emergency in the basement consultation room. Get down here, fast!”

If you enjoyed this excerpt, I hope that you will purchase the book at your local bookstore or purchase it online at: http://www.amazon.com/Pure-Paradise-Presents-Allison-Hobbs/dp/1593092245/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1247601239&sr=1-1

Excerpt of Sin in Soul's Kitchen

2009-07-14T15:47:00.003-04:00

ZANE COMMENT

I first read the self-published version of Sin in Soul’s Kitchen several years ago and wrote a review for it on Amazon.com, something that I rarely do. The book is HOT, the writing is poetic, sensual, and stimulating. I hope that you will give this book a chance. You will certainly not regret it.

BOOK DESCRIPTION

A sexy, psychological thriller that explores why men and women commit sinister crimes of passion, do the most hateful things in the name of love, and cook up schemes to punish one another when sweet romance turns sour. If you can't stand the heat, stay out of soul's kitchen.
Groomed for "the good life" by his affluent family, rebellious Thaddeus Carmichael has a new MBA and a spicy, new vision for his future. Unfortunately, he is also embroiled in a power struggle with the lady in his life -- the ever-fabulous, ever-ambitious Chelsea Fuller. She wants a perfect marriage. He wants artistic freedom.
Andrew Oyé is a journalist, author, screenwriter and publisher. A graduate of Stanford and Vanderbilt Universities, Oyé currently lives in Hollywood, California, where he works on TV, film, media and marketing projects. Visit the author at www.myspace.com/drewoye Thad insists "happily ever after" is a state of mind, and he questions the state of Chelsea's mind. Over time, their relationship is seasoned with deceit, betrayal, and obsession -- ingredients for a bitter existence. Bad things happen to good people who wrestle with destiny, so Thad's pursuit of his passion over his fate with Chelsea could be a recipe for disaster.
With pulsating dialogue and vivid backdrops, Sin in Soul's Kitchen is a dramatic voyage into sensuality and suspense, vibrating with cultural ambiance, captivating encounters, and riveting twists in a world of intrigue, intimacy and insanity.

EXCERPT FROM SIN IN SOUL’S KITCHEN
As the sky deepened to gunmetal gray, streetlamps flickered on like birthday candles in celebration of the rain's end. Still tense, Thad walked down Seventh Avenue, tucking in a new shirt that had replaced his devoured one. Over the horizon, he saw Nubian Rhythm Kitchen. The golden neon sign rested on a hut-like awning, and a marquee announced "Spoken Word Open Mike Night."
Suddenly, his shoes could fly again. Thad’s pace quickened to a sprint, his boots licking the wet sidewalk in time with his heartbeat. He skillfully dodged random puddles oozing from the cracked sores of the pavement like pus filled with more of Chelsea’s accusations and assaults. Reaching NRK’s entrance out of breath, Thad admired his personal Jerusalem from the outside until the aroma of Jamaican sausage lured him inside.
Stacking glasses and coasters at the bar, Melvin insisted, "Virgil, when are you gonna slip me some of the bread you cats are makin’ with this place? Let me get some of that stash."
"Stash? Fool, we opened the place yesterday," Virgil snapped, fiddling with the cash register. "We’re not even turning a real profit yet. Besides, it’s not just my money, so I’m not giving you a damn thing."
Melvin threw a stack of napkins at the back of Virgil’s head. "You’ve got brass balls now that you’re hangin’ with these pretty college cats?" Melvin snatched Virgil around, pushing his five-foot-seven frame against Virgil’s six-foot-two mass until the register slammed shut. "You betta watch the tone you take with me, sucker!"
"Chill out, Mel," Virgil whispered through frozen lips, his breaths turning to quick heaves. "Look, the guys are right over there. Don’t make a scene."
Melvin looked across the room, where Thad stood talking to Kahlil and Saadiq as they dragged big couches from backstage and arranged them around a microphone and stool in the center of the club. Melvin slowly took the heat off Virgil, backing away and wiping the spit from his lips with his sleeve. "You may be three times bigger than me, but I’m still your big bro, Virgil, and I’ll kick your ass if you keep poppin’ off at the mouth."
Virgil stared into his brother’s beady eyes. "You’re already living with me and Roz. I got you this bartending gig. What else do you want from me, Mel?"
"First off, don’t forget who was feedin’ your ass back home, before you went big-time bourgeois, playin’ that sissy music with the Boys’ Choir of Harlem over there. Yeah, I’m livin’ off of you and your bitch now, but I’ll be gettin’ out of y’all’s place in a minute. As a matter of fact, my boys Cedric and Jojo mentioned comin’ up north to start somethin’ over in Jersey."
"Something like what?"
"Never mind that! All that matters is I’m strapped for cash, baby bro." Melvin’s eyes got tighter as he extended a hand low under the counter and waited with a frown on his face.
Breathing deeply, Virgil waited in a useless standoff for Melvin to drop his hand. The hand stayed. Virgil turned around and punched the register. The drawer shot out. Virgil snatched up two hundreds from the tray, slammed it shut, and slapped the crisp bills into Melvin’s palm.
"That’s right, baby bro. You calls those cats your blood brothers, but we’re real brothers, real blood. We’re family, and blood’s got to look out for blood." Melvin snickered as Virgil stomped away.
Saadiq adjusted the mike stand in the center of the club. "Talk to me, Thad."
"I called my parents and told them everything."
"What? Why the hell did you do that?"
"Because I want Chelsea to have the baby, and don’t give me any lip about it, Saadiq! I got enough of it from them. They think I should marry her."
"I didn’t say a word," Saadiq sang. "But I bet Big Pappy Carmichael lost it."
"My father's convinced I'm officially a crazy, rebellious child. Like I planned this," Thad replied, helping Kahlil set a bamboo bench before the mike.
"Are you going to marry her?" Kahlil asked, roping off the presentation area.
"I can’t do that and be happy. I'll be in my child’s life, not Chelsea’s. It's over."
With a satisfied smile, Saadiq went to the bar to burn incense as the leaders of the dinner crowd dwindled into the supper club. Ignoring the customers as they walked into the entrance, Virgil stood at the front door with his hands in his pockets, cussing like a sailor under his breath.
"Hey, Virgil, what’s up?" Thad asked, easing next to him.
"Nothing!" Virgil’s eyes didn’t leave the front door.
"O-kay." Thad paused. "Oh! This morning, we were looking for you–"
"Why are you guys always trying to trail me? I’m not obligated to check in with anybody. I’m not the one you need to keep tabs on anyway. Your man Rush is in the alley, and guess what he’s doing. That’s right. Puffing on hay. Why don’t you go chase him for a little while, huh?"
Virgil’s defensiveness prompted Thad to back off and approach Saadiq in the club instead. "What’s wrong with Virgil?"
"Don’t know. Why?"
"Never mind. Where’s Rush?"
"He’s out back with Benny partaking in a little ganja action."
"He knows I don’t like that, especially not here."
"Cut him a little slack. He told us not to tell you anyway." Saadiq pulled Thad aside. "Look, forget Rush. Did you make use of what I gave you this morning?"
"Why are you treating me like I’m in need of some kind of fix?" Thad gazed pensively at the entrance of the club. "The answer is yes. She’s supposed to meet me here tonight. I hope she shows. On second thought, I don’t." Thad pulled away from Saadiq. "I don’t know why the heck I called that girl."
"Sure you do." Saadiq patted Thad’s back. "When I met Asha, I knew she was perfect for you, man – sexy, good energy, talented, from worthy roots, right?"
"Most definitely, Asha’s good people. But I feel like I'm skipping the mourning period. I just ended a serious relationship. Saadiq, there’s a lot of emotionally charged stuff left between Chelsea and me."
"Explain that to that pretty little face over there." Saadiq pointed to the front door where Asha stood.
Thad barely moved. His feet took slow, uncertain steps, telling him to stop and think twice; but his leg muscles told his feet to pick up the pace, to walk him over and escort Asha away from the swelling crowd to a table in the corner.
After they ordered drinks, Thad cleared his throat and waited to see who should start. He sighed. "Asha, about last night. . ."
"You don’t owe me any explanations, Thad."
"Yes, I do. Chelsea and I just ended a long relationship, and I just discovered that she’s having my child. She feels she has a right to my time and attention, whereas I’m trying to move on from the idea of us as a couple."
"Well, are you going to support the baby?"
"Of course, by all means. Just clearing up any confusion."
"Oh, thank you." Asha smiled at the waitress who set a jumbo daiquiri in front of her. "I'm actually fresh out of a relationship myself. He was a real easygoing man from Nigeria. We danced together in Atlanta, and he taught me everything I know." Asha crossed her chocolate legs and looked down at her leather sandals. "Turns out, he was giving private lessons to a number of other girls in his class."
"Sorry to hear that. None of my relationships have ended due to the wandering eye. I guess that’s something to be proud of." Thad slid his mug of lager back and forth across the wood grain of the table. "Anyway, we’re both at similar junctions, right? Live and learn." He lifted his glass. "To new beginnings?"
Asha raised her daiquiri with both hands and clanked Thad’s mug. "Definitely. To new beginnings."
Thad sipped his drink, staring at Asha’s silver jewelry glinting in the mood lighting of the club. He bit his sore lip, trying to fight the feeling below his belt. "Tonight is open mike for poets. You do the spoken word thing?"
"Oh, no, no, no. I’m strictly dance. I express myself best through my body." Asha raised her arms in a swan-like motion, while Thad’s eyes agreed with her. "I don’t do words. That’s Nenna’s thing. She’s doing a couple of pieces tonight."
"Rush is reading, too. The man's a lyrical genius, a real poetic soldier. It’s such a cool talent to flow like that. His next project is an urban poet's society of spoken word artists called Vocal Cords that’ll teach kids the value of poetry. Kahlil will be drumming between sets and accompanying the poets’ performances."
"That should be a nice touch, the drumming and the words dancing together. We held readings like that at Spelman. The brothers from Morehouse College would come over, and we’d gather in the student union and just vibe. It was deep, seeing those men open up like that and share. The flavor was so real, you know?"
“I love your connection to the basics. I mean, conversations were never like this with Chelsea. Asha, you don’t understand. Debating the nutritional value in soul food versus the Primrose Café menu, or the spring selection at Barney’s versus Saks, or vacationing in the Hamptons versus Colorado Springs, gets old." Thad paused. "Asha, listen to me, ranting about the ex already. I’m sorry. So, you attended Spelman? What’s it like going to school with all those other women?"
"Of course, there were instances of major drama, but I found a place for myself and met some cool sisters. Morehouse is right next door, so we weren’t sheltered, but it was a big change from living under my parents’ roof and going to a performing arts high school. I learned a lot. I just graduated, early actually."
"Early?" His voice changed. "How ol– um, what did you study?"
"Philosophy. Took summer classes to finish in three years. All I want to do is dance. Came to New York to see how the big kids do it before I conquer a dance academy in Paris that I dream about attending. My dad didn’t want me to leave. He’s scared for his little girl. You know, bright lights, big city? I’m getting all of my adventure-seeking out of my system while I’m still young. I’ll be twenty next Saturday."
Twenty. He swallowed the number. "Oh. . .cool. Well, I went to Howard undergrad. I studied business, and just got my MBA from Columbia."
"I know. Saadiq told me. Columbia, that’s impressive."
"Thanks. I’ll be twenty-six next month. Fortunately, I've already created my dream business, so I’m feeling pretty good about this accomplishment."
"This place is totally righteous, Thad. Gosh, sometimes I wish the whole world was just like this place. You know what I mean? Like, I wish people didn’t have to travel to discover – what do you call it, African Heaven?"
"A Nubian Eden with an Urban Edge." Thad smiled.
"Ah, yes, a Nubian Eden. I dig that! But I wish we just lived in this, like, in a Nubian Rhythm World, you know?"
"Exactly! Me, too! I can’t believe you’re reading my mind like that. On second thought, I hope you’re not reading my mind; otherwise, you’d leave this table quicker than you sat down." Thad laughed with Asha while his eyes traveled up and down her legs. Then a chill suddenly breezed along the nape of his neck. Thad lost his smile as he looked toward a table a few feet away where Chelsea and Kayla waved mockingly at him. "Would you excuse me for a moment, Asha?" Thad charged over to Chelsea’s table. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"Is that the little skank from last night?" Kayla asked.
"Chelsea, why are you here? Didn’t you beat me up enough already?"
"It’s a public place." Chelsea’s stare was hard and glazed. She sipped her red rum leisurely, leaving red lipstick traces on the rim of the glass. "Just couldn’t wait, could you, Thaddeus? Dropped a real woman, carrying your unborn child, no less, and ran straight into the arms of an actual child. Just look at that young, tender thing."
"What's her curfew, or is it already past her bedtime?" Kayla snickered.
"Tell me, Thaddeus. Does that mystical creature have special powers? No, let me guess. Does she have a ring or a bone piercing her nose? It’s always one of the two. And can’t you lose your license for serving alcohol to minors? But I guess she moves pretty fast for her age. What is it they say, Kay? Earthy girls are easy?"
"Shut the hell up! This is childish. You two are the real immature ones. Why the hell are you dressed like hookers?" Thad surveyed their short, low-cut outfits, attire thoroughly out of place among the largely collegiate crowd that had gathered among local poets and rappers at the supper club that evening. "I don’t want this kind of lasciviousness here! Have some respect, at least for yourselves."
"Lasciviousness? Oh, now you want to be my daddy. Oooh, scold me," Chelsea cooed. Her eyes were like deep freezers, and her batting eyelashes fanned an icy air that cooled the entire club.
"Cut the filthy little vamp routine and get the hell out of here now!"
"I want to be bad, Daddy. We came here to get a little action just like you."
"Go to hell, Chelsea!"
Chelsea grabbed the tail of Thad's shirt before he could get away, pulling him back toward her. She uncrossed her legs in slow motion, spreading her caramel thighs. While Chelsea firmly clutched Thad’s tightening buttocks in her right hand, a long, red fingernail on her left lifted her short skirt, just high enough to reveal that she wore nothing underneath. Chelsea’s feminine power pulsated while she made small circles at her waist. Thad felt the freezer burn. He couldn’t take his eyes away from Chelsea’s crotch as the excruciating moment turned lethal. She dug her nails deeper into his tense cheeks until he flinched from the pain.
Meanwhile, Asha turned in her chair to look for her date. From the corner of her eye, Asha watched Chelsea lick her lips at Thad with a lingering tongue roll.
Then Thad heard Saadiq on the house microphone, calling for poets to sign his clipboard. Thad snapped out of his lusty daze. He looked at Chelsea’s heavily made-up face. "Damn, how can I still get worked up by the same woman who tried to rip my eyeballs out earlier today?" Thad’s question was a heavy breath. "You’re pulling out all the stops tonight, aren’t you?"
"Just forget you ever saw that tonight, because there’s no way to relieve yourself now." Chelsea closed her legs, depriving Thad’s undeserving eyes of a glorious view. She mouthed silently, "Sinner."
"I wish to God I never said what I said to you. It was a simple saying. Now you’re gonna haunt me with my own words? You’re deranged." Thad yanked away from his tormentor. He took his seat across from Asha, shaking the image of Chelsea’s pretty privates from his mind. "I’m sorry I kept you waiting, Asha," Thad apologized, rubbing the awakening excitement in his slacks under the table.
Suddenly, confusion wrinkled Thad’s forehead, as soft toes under the table reached from Asha’s direction, crept up the hem of his pants and gently caressed his calf muscle. Asha leaned back in her chair with a new ease that had hid under a mask of shyness minutes before. She removed the straw from her goblet and placed it in her mouth. Slowly, she pulled the straw through her glistening lips and licked its tip. Warm toes, phallic gestures, come-hither eyes that told him to go thither – these mixed-messages made Thad’s condition worse.
"I want to show you something," Asha purred, fanning herself lazily so her bangles rattled an ethereal mating call. She looked over her shoulder and waited until Chelsea and Kayla glanced in her direction. Then, grabbing Thad’s hand, Asha led him like a mindless animal right past their table –close enough to cut her competitor with switch-knife eyes and a quick whiff of cocoa butter and apples.
"Oh no, she didn’t," Chelsea and Kayla chimed together in pure disbelief.
In the dimly lit, unfamiliar supper club, Asha invented the expedition as it unfolded. She searched for a secluded place. Heading for the only bright lights in sight, Asha dragged Thad through the double doors of the kitchen and past Saadiq’s aunts frying meat pies and catfish fritters on the grill. An unlit storeroom in the kitchen's far reaches presented itself as the perfect destination. Still clasping hands, Asha lured Thad through the deep black rectangle on the stark white wall and drew the curtains over the entrance closed.
As a dash of blue moonlight through a high window barely shared its shine, Thad looked into what he could see of Asha’s eyes. "You wanted to show me something?"
"Thad, you’re an intelligent man." Asha took his shoulders and rested him against a stainless steel counter. "I’m sure you’ve figured out what it is by now."
"Well, I have an idea, but, I mean, I just met you."
"That’s okay, sweetheart." Asha stepped closer to him, pressing her cheek to his and rubbing her pelvis on his hardness in a thick, deliberate grind. She whispered, "I feel like I’ve known you all my life. We think a lot alike. I feel a real connection, don’t you?"
"Yes. Sure," he whispered back, feeling her breath on his ear, its warmth melting the wax, his brain, and everything else inside of it. He laughed nervously. "Look, uh, I'm totally lost. I don’t know what to make of this night or this entire day. Asha, you’re a very attractive girl, but don’t you think it’s too soon for this? I think maybe we should wait or–"
"Shhh." Asha placed her finger over his lips. She stepped back into the blue box of light that the high window dropped to the floor. "It’s never too early between two souls like ours. Two minds, two bodies, dancing to the melody of heartbeats. Like the drums and the poetry."
Thad gripped the counter and shook his head like the son of a preacher man on the ledge of devilish peer pressure.
"You mean to tell me you don’t want to see this, Thad?" Asha slithered out of her jungle-print skirt and removed her black halter. The light re-dressed her body in nothing but a metallic purple glow. Each perfect breast beckoned him, and her quiescent, feathery cove begged to be invaded.
"I don’t have any protection," Thad whispered.
"Don’t worry, baby. I know what to do."
Thad waited, full of steam, full of a familiar hunger, starving for a spot to pile drive his storage of anger for Chelsea. He squeezed his throbbing arousal. About to explode with agitation, he grabbed Asha, groping her, kissing her, licking her. She squirmed out of his hungry grip and shoved him away. She kept him at arm’s length.
"Naughty boy," Asha scolded, pushing him back against the counter. "I don’t work that way."
"Oh my God. I’m sorry." Thad chuckled, bashfully, crossing his arms, turning his body to hide his stiff shame. "This didn’t feel right, Asha, but, it’s just that you offered, and what you’re offering looks scrumptious as hell." He laughed again, scratching his head and backing away. "I guess I should’ve checked myself. Every woman isn’t into aggressive sex."
"Sex? Is that Chelsea’s thing, rough sex? I’m not into sex at all, Thad," Asha replied, drawing him back toward her by the collar. "I’m into love-making. There’s a big difference." She kissed his forehead. "Now, let’s try this again."
Asha slowly stripped Thad of his clothing, his desire building with each layer removed. She laid him flat on the counter, and the cold steel sent a shockwave through his naked body. She dotted him with tender kisses from head to other head to toe, while he savored the sensation of her soft lips against his skin. She climbed onto the counter and crawled over him. She traced a wet trail around his neck and chest with her tongue. The electricity in her mouth sent a current to his hands, which impulsively hugged her waist. He gripped the small of her back, as she mounted him and allowed him to gently glide inside.
Their lips locked. Their bodies rocked in symbiotic undulations.
The sizzling grill, kitchen crew's voices, and clanking dishes barely masked her wailing or his moaning, making the sensuous act all the more exciting – the turn-on heightened, knowing that, at any moment, they could be caught, pleasuring each other’s bodies.
Thad shifted on top of Asha and kissed her heaving bosom. He caressed her hips as he played in her naval with his tongue, before easing lower, pushing the muscle in his mouth past tangled vines until it reached sweet wetness and stayed awhile.
Thad rose again, plunging his vessel into her sea, and, as Asha swallowed him in her waves, a solitary drop of passion trailed back up her system, spilling as a single tear from her eye. At the same time, Thad closed his eyes to fight back what came naturally – the urge to dig her out with force. Instead, he worked her terrain with keen concentration, thrusting rhythmically, in sync with the tribal drumming that drifted in from the club.
Good for the body. Swaying. Swimming. Swishing.
Bad for the mind. Drifting. Drowning. Draining.
At the almighty point of human connection, an invisible foot, heavy with hidden motives, pressed the gas pedal of eroticism’s dingy side, until Asha and Thad smacked into one another’s unspoken places. Outside of the storeroom’s high window a cannon of thunder exploded. Streaks of lightning crackled. The sky started its war of monstrous rain again. Simultaneously, inside the secluded room, lust’s momentum sent pots and pans from the shelf below crashing to the floor. The tumultuous clangor sounded just as Asha’s and Thad’s mounting urges climaxed like the surge of gigantic geysers. Thad signaled Asha. She quickly released him from her grip, digging her nails into his thighs, as he sprayed shame onto her abdomen in an orgasmic frenzy.
Feeling like a filthy, empty basement, Asha cradled Thad as he fell on top of her.
In the meantime, Chelsea had fought her way past the horde of college men that had swarmed around her table in the club to flirt with her and Kayla. She had found her way to the back of the kitchen. She had watched.
Chelsea stood paralyzed by disbelief, staring at Asha and Thad locked in a shadowy maze of sweaty arms and legs. Chelsea shook herself out of the shock. She snatched the curtain closed and staggered back into the club. Suddenly, disgust pinched her innards, burning the back of her throat. She dashed to the ladies’ room, fumbled into the last stall, hoisted up the toilet seat and dropped to her knees. One convulsion, then two, a heave and a half, and the water in the bowl splattered with the salmon tint of vomit, as Chelsea revisited her lunch –and images of Thad’s emotionless skin-play with Asha –in violent gags.
Kayla, meanwhile, had wandered over to the poets lounge and eased her way to the end of a bamboo bench. "Hi."
"Hi." Saadiq looked up from the clipboard in his lap. "Kayla, right?"
"Yep." Kayla looked at the stage, then down at her hands.
"Are you interested in sharing a piece tonight, or. . ."
"No. I’m no Maya Angelou." Kayla chuckled, her eyes straying. "Besides, I’m more into music than poetry, which I guess is the same thing, except that what’s recited becomes resonated and complemented by the rhythm of instruments.” She finally glanced up at Saadiq. “Why are you looking at me like that?"
"Uh, no reason." Saadiq returned his bottom lip to its upright position.
"Surprised that I can actually hold a conversation?" Kayla smiled.
"Sorry. Was that obvious?" Saadiq covered his face, groaning apologies. "I didn’t mean to be rude. All I know about you is what Thad tells me and, I guess, what I see in your friend Chelsea."
"Well, I’m not Chelsea." Kayla scooted closer to him. "Besides, that’s not a fair way to judge someone. What if I said all I knew about you was what Chelsea tells me and what I see in Thad, and then held that against you?"
"Touché, mademoiselle."
"Oh. Tu parle francaise?"
"Just a little. I mean, I’m no regular on the French Riviera." Saadiq ran his fingers through his dreadlocks. "So, you dig music?"
A chocoholic wickedly tempted by fields of milky brown kingdom come, Kayla watched Saadiq’s locks snake through his fingers and fall back against his broad shoulders –his supernatural cool, a walk on the wild side of her usual candy cravings. "Heavily. I’m a music video junkie." She tugged at her gold drop earring. "Actually, after news media, I think music is the world’s greatest communicator."
"Right on, sister. Now that I know we’re eating from the same sum-and-substance, I’d love to share one of my many cultural theories with you."
"Please." Kayla casually draped an arm over the part of the bench behind his back.
"Okay." Saadiq’s face brightened as he shifted toward Kayla to explain his mind’s work. "I’ve conceptualized theories that I want Arianna to help me compile in a written volume once she publishes her own book. The most prominent is my belief that black music will eventually bring unity to humanity. Hear me out. See, it’s evident in the universal appeal of black music –hip-hop, rhythm and blues, jazz, reggae, gospel, rock, funk, soul –as the musical choice of our generation."
"Wow, you know, I read a recent article about this phenomenon."
"Yes. Cultural studies circles are buzzing with this. Anyway, I’m predicting that the new millennium will witness the flourishing of a new society at the hands of the Neo-Soul and Hip Hop Nations, due, in part, to a unification under the shared values of Generation X –the most multiculturally open-minded in our nation’s history. These values are influenced, in part, by music, and the music that happens to be created by black people speaks to the generation of this ‘new world order.’ You dig it?"
Kayla pretended to absorb Saadiq's theorems, watching with intense intrigue the prophet's lips under his nappy goatee as he spoke. She was lost in the sway of Saadiq’s locks, each seeming to contain fibers of rich intellect, cultural prowess and historical pride, sealed into the kinky rope sprouting from his fertile crown. Up at the mike reciting theorems of her own, Nenna watched Kayla poke her perky chest out and cross her long, bare leg toward Saadiq, tossing it seductively to the funky rhythm of Kahlil’s drumbeats.
Just as Saadiq noticed Kayla’s bullet bra peeking from under her super-tight top, Chelsea appeared, grabbed Kayla and dragged her out of the club.

If you enjoyed this excerpt, please purchase Sin in Soul’s Kitchen by Andrew Oye at your local bookstore or online at: http://www.amazon.com/Sin-Souls-Kitchen-Novel-Presents/dp/1593092555/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1247600263&sr=1-1